College  Lib.  I  5) 
PT 

7511 
KI28HIEp 


r/r\v> 


The  Borzoi  Plays 


HADDA  PADDA 

A   Drama   in  four  acts  translated  by 
Sadie  Luise  Pellerfrom  the  Icelandic  of 


Godmundur 
Kamban 


I 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Kenneth  Maogowan 


The  Borzoi  Plays  V 
Hadda        Padda 


THE  BORZOI  PLAYS 

I   WAR 

By  Michael  Artzibashef 
II    MOLOCH 

By  Beulah  Marie  Dix 

III  "MORAL" 

By  Ludwig  Thoma 

IV  THE  INSPECTOR-GENERAL 

By  Nicolay  Gogol 
V    HADDA  PADDA 

By  Godmundur  Kamban 

VI    NJU 

By  Ossip  Dymon 


The  Borzoi  Plays  V 


HADDA  PADDA 

A    Drama   in  four  acts  translated   by 
Sadie  Luise   Peller  from   the  Icelandic  of 


Godmundur 
Kamban 

Foreword  by 
Georg  Brandts 


New  York  -Alfred A.  Knopf -1917 


COPYRIGHT,  1917,  BY 
GODMUNDUR  KAMBAN 

futlishtd  Stfttmttr,  1917 


FEINTED   IH    THE  UXITED  STATES  OF   AlIUICA 


College 
Library 

TT 

75!  I 


FOREWORD 

THE  value  of  this  play  lies  in  the  fact  that,  beneath  the 
surface,  it  vibrates  with  the  quivering,  intensely  pulsat- 
ing forces  of  life.  The  speeches  breathe.  The  leading 
characters  not  only  have  perspicuity,  but  each  has  its 
own  representative  melodic  theme.  There  is  as  music 
under  the  text,  a  constant  accompaniment  of  exquisite 
passion,  rising,  sinking,  and  now  rising  once  more,  in  a 
struggle  with  vacillating  sensual  pleasure  and  base  in- 
clination to  supersede  others.  Around  the  simple  action 
there  is  an  atmosphere  of  poetry.  The  play  opens  with 
the  superstition  of  olden  times,  in  the  old  nurse's  tale 
about  the  life-egg,  suggested  to  her  by  a  crystal  ball, 
with  which  the  sisters  are  playing.  Modern  supersti- 
tion is  woven  into  the  beautiful  scene,  where  Hadda 
Padda,  with  heroically  mastered  despair,  meets  the  herb- 
orist  who  talks  of  her  plants  in  a  calm  poetic  manner, 
reminiscent  of  the  way  Ophelia  speaks  of  the  flowers  she 
has  picked  and  collected. 

The  drama  stands  or  falls  with  Hadda  Padda,  that  is 
to  say,  it  stands.     She  holds  it  with  a  firm  hand,  as  the 


572596 


vi  Foreword 

Saint  in  the  old  paintings  bears  the  church.  In  her,  the 
Iceland  of  ancient  and  modern  times  meets.  She  has 
more  warmth,  more  kindness  of  heart,  more  womanly 
affection,  than  any  antique  figure  from  a  Saga.  She 
gives  herself  completely,  resignedly.  She  is  tender  and 
she  is  mild,  without  being  meek.  In  her  inmost  self, 
however,  she  is  proud.  When  first  this  pride  is  touched, 
then  hurt,  and  finally  the  very  woman  in  her  is  mortally 
wounded,  it  is  at  once  perceptible  that  she  descends  from 
the  strong,  wild  women  of  olden  times.  The  wildness 
has  become  resolution,  the  pride  has  become  poise,  the 
strength  has  remained  unchanged.  She  plays  with  life 
and  death  like  the  heroes  of  a  thousand  years  ago.  She 
faces  death  without  flinching,  and  despite  all  her  good- 
ness, her  delicacy,  her  kindly  love  for  the  old  and  the 
young,  for  the  humble  and  the  poor,  for  animals  and 
plants,  at  the  bottom  of  her  nature  she  is  heathen.  In 
life's  last  moments,  with  death  and  revenge  in  mind,  she 
can  still  pretend,  invent,  dupe.  Such  profound  and  ex- 
quisite womanhood,  such  inflexible  masculine  will,  have 
hardly  ever  been  seen  combined  on  the  stage  before. 

GEORG  BRANDES. 


INTRODUCTION 

Iceland  has  always  been  famous  for  the  quality  of  her 
literature,  although  nowadays  but  little  of  it  comes  to 
our  shores.  It  is,  therefore,  an  especial  pleasure  to  in- 
troduce the  author  of  "  Hadda  Padda." 

Godmundur  Kamban,  son  of  a  merchant  of  an  old  and 
well  known  Icelandic  family,  was  born  near  Reykjavik, 
the  capital  of  Iceland,  on  June  8,  1888.  He  was  gradu- 
ated twenty-two  years  later  from  the  College  of  Reyk- 
javik, where  he  received  honoris  causa  in  literature  and 
language,  the  first  and  only  time  this  prize  has  ever  been 
awarded.  While  still  at  college,  he  was  made  assistant 
editor  of  the  best  known  newspaper  in  Iceland,  edited 
by  Bjorn  Jonsson,  the  late  Prime  Minister,  in  whose 
home  Mr.  Kamban  lived  during  his  college  career.  In 
1910,  he  proceeded  to  the  University  of  Copenhagen, 
where  he  specialized  in  literature  and  received  his  Mas- 
ter's degree.  In  Copenhagen,  Peter  Jerndorff,  the  fa- 
mous Acteur  Royal,  practically  regarded  him  as  his 
own  son.  Under  Jerndorff's  direction  for  five  years,  he 
obtained  that  thorough  dramatic  education  which  is  so 
essential  to  the  fastidious  Scandinavian  Theatre,  and  to 
which  Ibsen  also  served  an  apprenticeship. 

vii 


viii  Introduction 

"  Hadda  Padda,"  Mr.  Kamban's  first  dramatic  work, 
was  written  in  Denmark  in  1912,  while  he  was  still  a 
student  at  the  University  of  Copenhagen.  Originally 
written  in  Icelandic,  it  was  translated  into  Danish  and 
submitted  to  the  Royal  Theatre,  a  fortress  difficult  of 
access  to  the  newcomer.  This  theatre  did  not  even  fully 
recognise  such  masters  as  Ibsen  and  Bjornson  until  they 
stood  on  the  heights  of  achievement.  Our  author  was 
but  twenty-four  years  old,  unknown,  and  offering  his 
first  play. 

From  the  outset  "  Hadda  Padda  "  caused  the  directors 
unexpected  trouble.  It  took  them  four  times  as  long  as 
usual  to  come  to  a  decision.  They  finally  accepted  it 
"  on  account  of  its  literary  merit,"  but  without  any  obli- 
gation on  their  part  to  produce  it,  as  the  scenery  of  the 
last  act  was  of  "  such  daring  and  dangerous  character." 

There  was  but  one  thing  to  do  and  Mr.  Kamban  did  it. 
His  play  was  published  by  Gyldendal,  the  most  distin- 
guished of  the  Scandinavian  publishers.  He  sent  a  copy 
to  Georg  Brandes,  as  do  thousands  of  authors  from  all 
parts  of  the  world.  Next  evening  he  received  a  letter 
from  the  great  critic,  telling  him  that  he  had  read  the 
play,  and  asking  Mr.  Kamban  to  call  on  him  at  his  home. 
A  few  days  later,  when  he  spent  four  hours  with  Brandes 
at  and  after  table,  the  latter  told  him  that  he  received 
on  an  average  twelve  volumes  a  day  from  different  au- 


Introduction  ix 

thors  of  every  nationality,  and  were  he  to  do  nothing 
else,  he  could  not  read  even  one  twelfth  of  them.  "But 
I  am  going  to  write  an  article  about  your  play,"  he  con- 
cluded. Thus  was  Mr.  Kamban's  place  as  an  artist 
assured. 

In  spite  of  the  unanimous  recognition  the  play  re- 
ceived from  the  press,  the  theatre  still  refused  to  produce 
it,  as  nearly  all  the  authorities  agreed  that  it  would  be 
"  hardly  possible  to  stage."  Finally,  the  new  chief  of 
the  theatre,  Count  F.  Brockenhuus-Schack,  determined  to 
carry  the  matter  through.  The  author  then  undertook 
to  stage  the  play,  designed  the  scenes,  and  arranged  the 
mise-en-scene  to  the  minutest  detail.  On  November  14, 
1914,  the  first  performance  took  place.  He  sat  in  the 
latticed  author's  box.  The  first  three  acts  went 
smoothly,  interrupted  at  times  by  applause.  The  fourth 
act,  the  one  talked  about  and  difficult,  was  still  to  come. 
The  fate  of  the  play  depended  on  this  act.  The  curtain 
rose,  and  with  the  slowness  of  life  the  act  proceeded. 
The  silence  of  the  audience  was  uncanny.  Toward  the 
end,  the  foremost  theatrical  critic  of  the  city  rose  to  his 
feet  and  raised  his  hand  as  if  in  horror.  The  curtain 
fell.  Not  a  hand  stirred.  A  whole  minute  elapsed  and 
Mr.  Kamban  left  the  box,  refusing  to  himself  to  admit  the 
failure.  Then  suddenly  a  wild  enthusiasm  broke  loose 
and  lasted  several  minutes.  According  to  the  regula- 


x  Introduction 

tions  —  unique  in  Europe  —  of  the  Royal  Theatre,  the 
curtain  may  not  be  raised  for  any  author  or  actor  except 
at  a  jubilee.  The  public,  however,  refused  to  leave  the 
theatre  till  the  manager  had  escorted  Mr.  Kamban  to 
the  dais  in  front  of  the  curtain,  and  there  he  expressed 
his  thanks  to  the  audience. 

After  four  months  in  Copenhagen,  "  Hadda  Padda  " 
toured  the  Scandinavian  Countries,  and  preparations  were 
being  made  for  its  production  in  Germany,  when  the  war 
broke  out,  and  the  German  theatres  were  indefinitely 
closed  to  foreign  dramatists.  That  is  why,  two  years 
ago,  he  came  to  America. 

K. 


ACT    I 


CHARACTERS 

SKULL,  the  town  judge. 
LADY  ANNA,  his  wife. 

HRAFNHILD,  called  HADDA  PADDA "I,,        ,       ,. 
KRISTRUN  jtheir  daughters. 

LITTLE  SKULI,  their  grandson. 

RANNVEIG,  Hadda  Padda's  nurse. 

THE  SHERIFF  OF  BREIDABOL. 

LADY  MARGARET,  his  wife. 

INGOLF,  law  student!.,          ,., , 

OLOF  J  their  chlldren- 

STEINDOR,  Olof's  husband,  the  sheriff's  secretary. 

SIGGA   1 

DODDI   ^Steindor's  and  Olof's  children. 

MAGGA  J 

AN  HERBORIST. 

NATIVE  AND  FOREIGN  SUMMER  TOURISTS. 

There  is  an  interval  of  a  year  between  Acts  I  and  II; 
of  a  "week  between  Acts  II  and  III.  One  night 
elapses  between  Acts  III  and  IV. 

PLACE:    Iceland.  TIME:    Present. 


HADDA  PADDA 


ACT    I 

A  luxuriously  furnished  drawing-room  in  the  house  of 
the  Town  Judge.  On  the  right,  in  front,  a  door.  In  the 
middle  rear  an  open  door  draped  with  rich,  heavy,  deep- 
red  curtains.  On  the  left  a  large  window.  In  the  cor- 
ner, between  the  window  and  the  door,  a  grand  piano, 
behind  which  stands  a  palm,  the  leaves  spreading  over 
the  piano.  In  front,  on  the  left,  a  divan.  Alongside  of 
it  is  a  pedestal  with  a  black  terra  cotta  statue  on  it. 

Hadda  Padda  and  Kristrun  are  sitting  toward  the 
front,  in  large  deep  arm-chairs,  throwing  a  crystal  ball 
to  each  other.  Near  by  is  a  small  table,  covered  with  a 
piece  of  velvet,  on  which  the  ball  had  lain.  Hadda 
Padda  is  very  sunburnt. 

RANNVEIG  [enters  from  behind.  She  is  knitting, 
keeping  the  ball  of  yarn  under  her  arm.  She  is  dressed 
in  an  Icelandic  costume].  Take  care!  Don't  drop  the 
ball !  [Drops  a  stitch,  takes  it  up  again  —  smiles.'} 
Who  knows  —  maybe  it  is  your  life-egg,  children ! 

KRISTRUN.     Life-egg!  ...  Is  that  a  fairy-tale? 

RANNVEIG.  Haven't  you  ever  heard  it?  Come,  let 
me  tell  you  about  it.  [Takes  a  chair  and  sits  down  be- 
side them.']  Once  upon  a  time  there  lived  two  giantesses 
who  were  sisters.  One  day,  they  lured  a  young  prince 
to  them.  They  let  the  prince  sleep  under  a  coverlet 
woven  of  gold,  while  they  themselves  slept  under  one 

13 


14  Hadda  Padda  [Act  I 

woven  of  silver.  When  at  last  the  prince  pledged  him- 
self in  marriage  to  one  of  them,  he  made  them  tell  him 
how  they  spent  the  day  in  the  forest.  They  went  hunt- 
ing deer  and  birds,  and  when  they  rested,  they  sat  down 
under  an  oak,  and  threw  their  life-egg  to  each  other.  If 
they  broke  it  they  both  would  die.  The  next  day,  the 
prince  went  to  the  forest,  and  saw  the  sisters  sitting 
there,  under  the  oak.  One  of  them  was  holding  a  golden 
egg  in  her  hand,  and  just  as  she  tossed  it  into  the  air, 
he  hurled  his  spear.  It  hit  the  egg,  and  broke  it  —  the 
giantesses  fell  down,  dead. 

KRISTRUN.  Brave  giantesses  who  dared  to  treat  your 
sacred  possession  so  heedlessly! 

RANNVEIO.  One  does  not  hear  the  footstep  of  venge- 
ance. It  came  to  them  unexpectedly. 

KRISTRUN.  How  I  wish  my  whole  fate  were  held  in 
this  ball. 

RANNVEIO.     What  would  you  do  if  it  were? 

KRISTRUN.  I  would  lay  it  gently  in  the  hand  of  the 
man  I  loved,  saying:  Take  it  to  a  safe  place!  —  and  I 
would  shut  my  eyes  while  he  were  searching  for  the 
place. 

RANNVEIG.  If  my  sister  were  here,  perhaps  she  could 
read  your  fate  in  the  ball,  both  the  past  and  the  fu- 
ture .  .  .  Who  knows,  but  the  whole  Universe  may  be 
mirrored  in  this  one  glass  globe. 

KRISTRUN.  That's  your  favorite  superstition.  [Smil- 
ing surreptitiously.]  Tell  me,  Veiga  —  haven't  you  a 
life-egg?  [Turns  abruptly  from  her,  throwing  the  ball 
to  Hadda.] 

RANNVEIO  [evasively],     I  had  one  once.  .  .  . 

KRISTRUN  [catching  the  ball].  Then  you  haven't  it 
any  more? 

RANNVEIO.     No. 

KRISTRUN.     And  you  are  still  alive? 

RANNVEIG.  He  who  lived  once  in  happiness  dies 
twice. 


Act  I]  Hadda  Padda  15 

[Sees  the  sisters  throw  the  ball  faster  and  faster.] 
Don't  throw  the  ball  so  carelessly. 

KRISTRUN.  Be  calm.  The  prince  won't  come.  And 
even  if  he  came  —  do  you  think  we  have  the  same  life- 
egg,  I  and  Hrafnhild? 

RANNVEIG.  Now  stop  making  fun  of  me!  The  ball 
may  hit  you  in  the  face  —  there  now !  —  that's  enough ! 
—  you  nearly  dazed  my  Hadda.  It  is  strange  to  like  to 
do  this.  [Picks  up  the  ball,  and  puts  it  back  on  the 
velvet.] 

KRISTRUN.  Tell  me,  Veiga,  perhaps  your  life-egg 
was  a  young  man's  heart.  .  .  . 

RANNVEIG.     We  won't  talk  about  it  any  more. 

KRISTRUN.     And  how  did  it  break? 

RANNVEIG  [enraged].  At  least  I  didn't  play  with  it. 
7  never  played  with  anybody  else's  feelings. 

KRISTRUN.  There  —  there,  don't  snarl  so,  you're 
simply  barking  —  bow,  wow! 

RANNVEIG  [furious].  How  'many  have  you  made 
fools  of  already? 

KRISTRUN.  Let  me  see — .  [Counts  on  her  fingers.] 
One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  nine, 
ten,  [throws  off  one  shoe,  and  counts  on  her  toes] 
eleven  .  .  .  twelve  .  .  .  thirteen  —  ah!  here's  a  hole  in 
my  stocking.  Thirteen!  Thirteen,  Veiga  dear!  The 
unlucky  number!  Wonderful!  I'll  never  throw  him 
over! 

RANNVEIG.     You're  horribly  flippant,  Kristrun. 

KRISTRUN  [sits  down  at  the  small  table,  shades  her 
face  as  she  looks  into  the  ball].  Fancy,  Veiga,  I  see 
your  whole  fate  in  the  ball. 

RANNVEIG.  Leave  the  crystal  alone,  it  won't  hurt 
you. 

KRISTRUN.  As  sure  as  I  live  —  I  can  see  the  most 
trivial  events  in  your  life.  I  see  you  by  day,  in  this 
room  here,  when  your  nose  begins  to  itch,  and  you  steal 
into  the  kitchen  to  take  a  pinch  of  snuff.  I  see.  .  .  . 


16  Hadda  Padda  [Act  I 

[Looks  up;  Rannveig  has  come  up  to  her,  and  is  about 
to  strike  her.] 

KRISTRUN  [slipping  away  from  her].  Look  out,  the 
snuff  is  dripping  from  your  nose!  [Runs  out,  Rann- 
veig shuts  the  door  behind  her,  and  turns  around.  She 
passes  her  finger  under  her  nose,  looks  at  it,  shakes  her 
head.] 

HADDA  PADDA.  You  and  Runa  don't  seem  to  get  on 
any  better  since  I've  been  away. 

RANNVEIG.  We  have  never  gotten  along  together. 
...  I  don't  understand  the  young  people  nowadays. 
They  are  merely  butterflies  —  all  of  them. 

HADDA  PADDA.  You  once  told  me,  dear,  that  some- 
time in  every  one's  life  there  comes  a  wishing  hour. 
Maybe  Runa  had  hers  when  she  wished  for  the  joy  of 
living. 

RANNVEIG.  It's  a  strange  joy  then,  to  want  to  make 
other  people  miserable!  To  use  the  beauty  God  has 
given  her,  against  those  who  cannot  resist  it.  ...  Why 
do  you  suppose  the  new  engineer  has  stopped  coming  here 
since  the  son  of  the  Chief  Justice  returned  from  Copen- 
hagen —  and  he  seemed  like  such  a  sweet  boy  too !  It 
is  not  the  first  or  the  second  time  she  has  changed  her 
mind. 

HADDA  PADDA.  When  a  true  and  deep  love  comes  to 
her,  she  will  not  change  her  mind. 

RANNVEIG.  It's  no  use  to  stand  up  for  her;  she 
wheedles  them  all. 

HADDA  PADDA.  But  still  you  told  me,  dear,  that  you 
would  be  fonder  of  me  if  I  did  not  marry. 

RANNVEIG.  How  can  you  say  that,  Hadda  dear? 
I  said  that  marriage  doesn't  always  bring  happi- 
ness. 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  know.  You  told  me  that  only  to 
console  me,  because  I  am  now  twenty-six  years  old. 
Runa  is  nineteen,  prettier  than  most  girls,  and  a  wild 
little  imp,  surrounded  by  young  men  all  the  time.  And 


Act  I]  Hadda  Padda  17 

they  play  upon  her  vanity  only  to  make  her  cruel. 
[Stands  up.] 

RANNVEIG.  At  her  age  you  were  prettier,  and  are, 
still,  but  you  were  not  like  that.  No,  she  hasn't  your 
character. 

KRISTRUN  [enters  from  behind].  The  prince  is  com- 
ing! [Rannveig  gathers  her  knitting,  and  drops  the 
yarn.  Kristrun  jumps  at  it  like  a  cat,  and  catches  it.~\ 
Now  I'll  dance  for  you,  Veiga  dear.  [She  whirls  around 
her,  singing,  yarn  in  hand,  twisting  the  thread  around 
the  old  woman.  They  listen  for  footsteps.  Rannveig 
slips  out,  on  the  right,  entangled  in  the  yarn,  Kristrun 
following.] 

INGOLF  [enters.     Like  Hadda,  he  is  sunburnt]. 

HADDA  PADDA.  How  do  you  do !  You  promised  to  be 
here  earlier,  dear.  [Kisses  him.] 

INGOLF.  What  time  is  it?  [About  to  take  out  his 
•watch.] 

HADDA  PADDA  [catching  his  hands].  I  don't  know. 
But  I  felt  the  moment  slipping  by,  when  you  should 
have  been  here. 

INGOLF   [kisses  her  again]. 

HADDA  PADDA.  While  I  was  sitting  there,  in  the 
arm-chair,  waiting  for  you,  I  closed  my  eyes,  and  do  you 
know  what  I  saw? 

INGOLF.     No. 

HADDA  PADDA  [pointing  to  the  crystal].  I  saw  the 
crystal  ball  through  my  eyelashes. 

INGOLF  [smiling].  Then  you  did  not  close  your 
eyes  — 

HADDA  PADDA.  No,  I  cheated.  [They  laugh.]  .  .  . 
and  then  I  began  to  throw  the  crystal  ball  to  Runa,  do 
you  know  why? 

INGOLF.     No — ? 

HADDA  PADDA.  So  as  to  lure  back  an  old  recollec- 
tion. .  .  .  Do  you  remember,  it  was  your  last  winter  at 
the  Latin  school.  One  day  you  came  home,  and  we  two 


18  Hadda  Padda  [Act  I 

were  alone  in  the  room  here,  you  took  the  ball,  threw  it 
to  me,  and  called:  Wishing — /  I  caught  it,  and  said: 
—  stone!  And  so  we  continued  to  play,  till  you  called 
Hadda!  I  didn't  quite  follow  your  trick  at  first,  but 
caught  the  word:  Padda!  Then  you  laughed  and  said: 
From  now  on,  you  shall  never  be  called  anything  but 
Hadda  Padda.  Do  you  remember? 

INGOLF.     I  do. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Everybody  calls  me  that  now,  except 
my  nurse. 

RANNVEIG  [peeping  in  through  the  curtain"].  Don't 
let  me  hear  that  name.  Hf!  Padda!  That's  an  in- 
sect! [Disappears.'] 

HADDA  PADDA  [walks  gently  forth,  and  rolls  the  door 
back].  Then  I  asked  you  what  christening  gift  I  was  to 
have.  You  gave  me  your  first  kiss. 

INGOLF  [sits  down  on  the  divan,  takes  Hadda  on  his 
knee].  Hadda  Padda!  You  don't  know  how  I  love 
that  name.  You  don't  know  how  many  times  I  have 
wrapped  you  in  it,  as  in  some  fantastic  mantle.  After 
you  had  left  Copenhagen  last  spring,  and  I  sat  reading 
all  the  live-long  day,  until  at  last  I  went  to  bed,  my  lips 
did  not  close  on  your  name,  till  my  eyes  had  closed  on 
your  picture. 

HADDA  PADDA.  You  must  never  call  me  anything  but 
that.  Each  time  you  say  it,  it  brings  back  the  joy  of 
your  first  kiss. 

INGOLF.     Were  you  really  in  love  with  me  then? 

HADDA  PADDA.  You  don't  know?  .  .  .  Then  I  did 
succeed  in  hiding  it? 

INGOLF.  Why  did  you  hide  it,  Hadda?  Why,  I  al- 
most believed  you  bore  me  a  grudge.  You  seemed  to 
hold  more  aloof  each  day. 

HADDA  PADDA.     And  even  that  did  not  betray  me? 

INGOLF.     Why  did  you  hide  it,  Hadda? 

Footsteps   are   heard   outside. 

HADDA   PADDA   [kisses   Ingolf   hastily,   gets   up,   and 


Act  I]  Hadda  Padda  19 

seats  herself  at  his  side,  takes  his  hand].  Don't  you 
understand,  dear,  I  was  afraid  of  knowing  the  certainty. 
The  stronger  my  love  grew,  the  more  carefully  I  had 
to  hide  it.  I  dared  not  risk  those  beautiful  dream-chil- 
dren of  uncertainty  for  a  disguised  certainty.  When- 
ever we  talked  together,  and  you  looked  up  at  me,  I  was 
startled.  I  thought  you  understood,  and  your  hurried 
glance  reached  me  only  after  the  fear  of  seeing  the 
answer  in  it. 

INGOLF.  You,  the  most  sincere  of  women,  could  cher- 
ish so  strong  a  love  and  seem  so  cold. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Now  I  have  made  too  great  a  virtue 
of  my  love.  Some  of  my  reserve  was  pride.  Just 
think,  you  lived  with  us  during  your  entire  schooltime, 
and  in  the  summer  sister  and  I  were  by  turns  at  your 
home.  We  grew  up,  you,  handsome  and  manly,  and  a 
lord  of  pleasures;  and  you  always  seemed  to  be  careful 
not  to  pay  me  greater  attention  than  the  other  girls, 
especially  at  parties.  That  was  why  I  drew  back. — 
I  was  eighteen,  you  were  twenty;  you  were  graduated 
and  went  abroad.  And  poor,  proud  little  Hadda  Padda 
was  left  alone. 

INGOLF.  Poor  proud  little  Hadda  Padda.  [They 
laugh.] 

HADDA  PADDA.  Then  when  you  came  back  the  next 
spring,  it  was  Kristrun's  turn  to  go  to  the  country. 
And  since  then,  you  have  not  been  home  during  the 
summer. 

INGOLF.  And  when  you  went  to  Copenhagen  the  fol- 
lowing winter,  it  just  happened  to  be  the  only  year  I 
stayed  home. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Then  I  thought  it  surely  was  the 
will  of  fate  to  separate  us.  But  I  loved  you  even  more. 
I  could  not  give  up  hope.  Not  even  when  you  wrote 
home,  the  year  before  last,  that  you  had  decided  to  live 
abroad.  I  got  that  news  on  the  shortest  day  of  the  year. 
I  watched  the  twilight  darken  into  night  until  the  very 


20  Hadda  Padda  [Act  I 

blackness  swam  before  my  eyes  in  blood-red  spots.     It 
was  then  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go. 

INGOLF.     Yes,  you  came  in  the  autumn. 

HADDA  PADDA.  And  it  was  not  before  December,  at 
a  meeting  of  the  Icelandic  Society  —  we  sat  alone,  in 
an  outer  room.  Then  I  placed  my  fate  in  your  hand. 

INGOLF.     Then  you  placed  your  hand  in  mine. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Then  I  placed  my  life  in  your  hand. 
I  willed  all  my  power  into  my  hand  and  placed  it  in 
yours.  That  instant,  nothing  but  my  hand  lived.  Had 
you  thrust  it  away,  I  would  not  now  be  living. 

INGOLF.  How  silently  happiness  steals  upon  us. 
We  sat  alone  in  the  room,  far  from  the  din  of  the 
dance.  Then  it  came.  I  heard  its  tread  in  the  quiver 
of  your  breath.  .  .  .  Then  I  felt  it  in  my  hand. 

HADDA  PADDA.  And  yet  you  sat  there  immovable, 
and  made  the  very  seconds  fight  for  my  life.  When  I 
held  your  hand,  I  was  afraid  lest  a  single  finger  trem- 
ble —  till  you  closed  your  hand  around  my  wrist,  and 
drew  me  to  you.  [She  leans  toward  him.] 

INGOLF.  Do  you  know  what  attracted  me  most  to 
you? 

HADDA  PADDA.     You  don't  know  yourself. 

INGOLF.     Why  not  .  .  .? 

HADDA  PADDA.     Because  you  love  me. 

INGOLF.     But  I  think  I  know  now. 

HADDA  PADDA.     Well,  what  is  it? 

INGOLF.     The  thing  that  kept  us  apart  so  long. 

HADDA  PADDA.     And  that  is?  .  .  . 

INGOLF.  Your  reticence.  That  awaiting  attitude 
you  just  called  pride.  I  have  known  other  women. 
They  came  to  me  without  first  listening  to  my  heart 
.  .  .  but  you  did  not. 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  looked  into  your  eyes.  I  saw  the 
flame  in  them  increase,  the  longer  they  gazed  at  me. 

INGOLF.  The  human  heart  is  like  the  mountains: 
they  give  no  echo  if  we  get  too  near. 


Act  I]  Hadda  Padda  21 

HADDA  PADDA  [lets  herself  slide  down  at  Ingolf's 
knees,  so  that  he  sits  bending  over  her].  Let  me  look 
at  you  for  a  long  time. —  How  long  your  eyelashes 
are!  Each  time  you  blink,  it  is  as  though  invisible 
petals  were  sprinkled  upon  me. 

INGOLF  [closing  her  hands  in  his].  Now  you  ha  .re 
no  hands.  .  .  .  Shall  I  give  them  to  you  again?  [Lets 
go,  but  looks  at  her  one  hand  lying  in  his.]  Your  nails 
have  a  tinge  like  that  of  ice  in  sunshine. 

HADDA  PADDA  [withdraws  her  hand,  laughing,  and 
gets  up].  I  am  just  thinking  .  .  . 

INGOLF.     What  are  you  thinking? 

HADDA  PADDA  [walks  a  few  steps  and  stops  behind 
him].  I  was  lying  down  outside  in  the  garden  to-day. 
I  could  not  keep  awake.  I  dreamed  I  stood  outside  the 
Cathedral.  It  was  dark  inside,  but  all  along  the  church 
floor,  on  either  side,  was  a  straight  row  of  unlit  candles. 
I  remember  all  the  white  soft  wicks,  peeping  half  out, 
waiting  for  light.  Then  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  swept 
through  the  whole  church,  and  as  it  grazed  the  wicks, 
all  the  candles  were  lighted. 

INGOLF    [keeps  silent]. 

HADDA  PADDA.  What  do  you  think  the  dream  means  ? 
I  think  it  means  happiness. 

INGOLF.  You  must  not  deprive  your  dream  of  its 
beauty  by  interpreting  it. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Happiness  comes  to  us  like  a  beau- 
tiful dream  that  we  don't  dare  to  interpret. 

INGOLF.  You  have  promised  to  trust  me  as  much  as 
you  love  me. 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  see  the  future  mirrored  in  those 
days  we  lived  together. 

INGOLF.     I  love  you,  Hadda  Padda. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Your  words  are  the  light,  your 
caresses  are  the  warmth.  Give  me  both,  Ingolf.  Kiss 
me. 

INGOLF  [kisses  her]. 


22  Hadda  Padda  [Act  I 

HADDA  PADDA.  And  I  should  not  trust  you?  Has 
not  a  sacred  hour  welded  our  hearts  together?  And 
have  you  not  placed  your  life  in  my  hands  ?  —  Do  you 
remember  last  summer,  when  I  visited  your  home,  how 
you  lowered  me  with  a  rope  down  the  Angelica  Gorge? 
I  have  not  often  lived  so  exquisite  an  hour.  Then  I 
became  quite  foolhardy.  When  I  came  up  again,  I 
asked  you  to  go  down  and  let  me  hold  the  rope  for  you. 

INOOLF.  I  hardly  believed  you  were  as  strong  as  you 
are. 

HADDA  PADDA.  If  you  had  not  had  courage  to  go 
down  by  my  hands,  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  I  could  be 
so  fond  of  you.  I  shall  never  forget  that  moment.  I 
saw  you  come  up  again  with  an  angelica  crown  on  your 
head.  I  saw  you  rise  up  like  a  green-crowned  sea-god 
from  the  deep. — 

IN  GOLF.  I  can't  bear  the  thought  that  I  shall  leave 
you  in  a  few  days. 

HADDA  PADDA  [smiles]. 

IN  GOLF.     You  smile? 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  am  thinking  of  something.  Shall 
I  tell  you? 

LITTLE  SKULI  [comes  rushing  in  from  the  right], 
Hadda  Padda!  Have  you  seen — ?  Ah,  Ingolf,  are 
you  here?  [Runs  straight  up  to  Ingolf,  catching  hold 
of  both  his  hands].  Why  did  you  leave  home  so  soon, 
Ingolf? 

INGOLF.     Because  I  wanted  to  go  to  Copenhagen. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Skuli  dear,  will  you  be  a  good  boy  and 
make  me  a  ship? 

LITTLE  SKULI.     Oh  no,  not  now. 

HADDA  PADDA.  O  yes,  your  last  ship  was  so  well  cut 
out,  with  great  big  masts.  [Pats  him.]  You're  a  dear. 

INGOLF.  Then  you'll  be  allowed  to  come  along  with 
us  to  the  country  next  summer. 

HADDA  PADDA.  And  sit  in  front,  on  the  Sheriff's 
horse,  many,  many  times. 


Act  I]  Hadda  Padda  23 

LITTLE  SKULI.  Then  will  the  Sheriff  give  me  a  sheep 
again  ? 

INGOLF.  Yes,  my  little  friend,  father  will  give  you 
a  sheep,  and  I  will  give  you  one  too;  I'll  give  you  one 
with  pretty  rounded  horns. 

LITTLE  SKULI.     Does  it  butt? 

INGOLF.  O,  of  course  not,  it  eats  bread  from  your 
hand. 

LITTLE  SKULI.  Then  I'll  saw  its  horns  off,  and  give 
them  to  Sigga — she  has  lots  of  horns  she  plays  sheep 
with.  [Laughter.] 

INGOLF.     Well,  are  you  going  to  make  that  ship? 

LITTLE  SKULI.  Are  you  the  one  who  gets  all  Hadda 
Padda's  ships? 

INGOLF.  Well,  I  daresay  I  get  most  of  them. —  What 
makes  you  think  so? 

LITTLE  SKULI.  Because,  whenever  she  is  with  you, 
she  always  wants  me  to  make  ships.  [Ingolf  and  Hadda 
look  at  each  other  and  laugh.] 

INGOLF.  Yes,  she  knows  I  am  very  fond  of  your 
ships. 

LITTLE  SKULI.  Then  I'll  make  ships  for  you  often. 
[Runs  out,  Ingolf  and  Hadda  still  laughing.] 

INGOLF.  What  was  it  you  were  going  to  tell  me  be- 
fore? 

HADDA  PADDA.     Something  that  .  .  . 

INGOLF.     That  .  .  .? 

HADDA   PADDA.     That  .  .  . 

INGOLF.     Are  you  teasing  me? 

RANNVEIG  [enters  from  the  back,  knitting,  sits  down]. 
What  a  lovely  day  it  is. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Veiga,  dear,  you  promised  to  darn 
my  lilac  stockings  for  me.  I  haven't  any  to  wear  to- 
morrow. 

RANNVEIG  [considering]  •  How  about  the  yellow  ones  ? 

HADDA  PADDA.  Oh,  Runa  must  have  taken  them; 
I  couldn't  find  them. 


24  Hadda  Padda  [Act  I 

RANNVEIG  [gets  up].  Well,  I  can't  let  you  go  bare- 
footed. [Goes  out.] 

INOOLF.  You  are  shrewd,  Hadda  Padda !  —  Now, 
tell  it  to  me. 

HADDA  PADDA.     First,  kiss  me! 

INGOLF   [kisses  her], 

HADDA  PADDA.  Db  you  think  you  will  miss  me  very 
much  when  you  are  gone? 

INGOLF.     How  can  you  ask  ? 

RANNVEIG  [enters  from  the  back,  with  the  stockings 
in  her  hand].  I  knew  as  much.  I  was  right. —  [Sees 
them  embracing.] —  I  might  have  saved  myself  the 
trouble  of  looking  for  the  stockings.  [Turns  round,  and 
goes  out.] 

HADDA  PADDA.     Ingolf! 

INGOLF.     Yes  — 

HADDA  PADDA.     Now  listen:  — 

THE  JUDGE   [enters  from  the  back], 

INGOLF  [looks  impatiently  at  his  watch,  and  walks 
toward  the  door  on  the  right.] 

THE  JUDGE.     Are  you  going  out,  Ingolf? 

INGOLF.  I'm  just  going  up  to  my  room.  I  have  a  let- 
ter to  answer.  [Goes  out.] 

THE  JUDGE.  Well,  my  dear,  to-morrow  is  the  great 
day. 

HADDA  PADDA.  How  good  you  are,  father,  to  make 
me  feel  your  gladness  as  you  do. 

THE  JUDGE  [takes  her  to  his  side,  and  sits  down 
with  her].  You  happy  child!  I  can't  believe  that  you 
are  grown  up.  It  is  as  if  I  were  beginning  to  realise 
it  now,  for  the  first  time.  But  still,  I  shall  have  you 
one  year  more. 

HADDA  PADDA.     Father! 

THE  JUDGE.     Yes,  dear. 

HADDA  PADDA.     Father.  .  .  .! 

THE  JUDGE.     What  is  the  matter,  dear  ? 


Act  I]  Hadda  Padda  25 

HADDA  PADDA.  There  is  something  I  want  to  ask 
you. 

THE  JUDGE.     And  that  is? 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  want  to  ask  you —  [Stops  ab- 
ruptly.] 

LADY  ANNA  [enters  from  the  back], 

THE  JUDGE  [to  Hadda].  What  did  you  want  to 
ask  me?  [Smiles  to  his  wife.]  Something  mother  may 
not  hear? 

HADDA  PADDA.  No,  something  I  have  to  ask  both  of 
you. 

THE  JUDGE.     Let  us  hear  it,  then. 

HADDA  PADDA.  It  is  a  very  great  favor,  but  you 
must  not  say  no. 

THE  JUDGE.     Ask  it. 

LADY  ANNA.  Well,  what  is  it  ?  [She  has  taken  some 
work  from  the  basket,  and  sits  down  to  sew.] 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  want  you  to  let  me  go  to  Copen- 
hagen again.  I  want  to  go  with  Ingolf. 

THE  JUDGE.     Now? 

HADDA  PADDA.     Yes,  now,  Tuesday. 

LADY  ANNA.  You  are  not  in  earnest,  Hrafnhild. 
You  know,  Kristrun  is  going  to  leave  for  England  next 
month,  your  brother  has  written  for  her.  And  she  hasn't 
been  abroad  yet,  while  you  have  been  twice. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Nor  do  I  want  her  to  abandon  her 
plan. 

LADY  ANNA.  But  do  you  want  me  to  do  without  both 
of  you  at  the  same  time? 

HADDA  PADDA.     Would  that  be  hard  for  you,  mother? 

LADY  ANNA.  Hard  —  it  would  be  impossible.  With 
all  the  parties  we  have,  I  must  have  one  of  you  at  home. 

THE  JUDGE.  Of  course,  it  would  be  difficult  for 
mother  to  manage  without  your  assistance  —  since  Kris- 
trun is  going  away. 

LADY  ANNA.     I   never  thought  of  that,   Hrafnhild. 


26  Hadda  Padda  [Act  I 

Besides,  I  think  it  in  good  taste,  since  your  engage- 
ment will  be  announced  to-morrow  before  Ingolf  leaves, 
for  you  to  remain  at  home  this  year  till  he  has  passed 
his  examination  and  comes  back. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Yes,  that  would  be  in  very  good  taste, 
if  I  could  only  bear  it. 

LADY  ANNA.  You  must  also  remember  that  you  would 
disturb  him  in  his  studies,  if  you  were  with  him  this 
winter.  .  .  .  Just  when  he  wants  to  concentrate  on  his 
work. 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  want  to  make  his  work  easier  — 
that's  just  what  I  want  to  do. 

LADY  ANNA.     I  can't  do  without  you,  Hadda. 

THE  JUDGE  [pats  his  wife  on  the  cheek].  If  our 
dear  little  Hadda  Padda  were  sick,  we  would  have  to  get 
one  girl  more  in  the  house.  And  then,  if  she  had  to  go 
away  for  a  year  to  recover,  and  we  were  waiting  for  her 
to  come  back  strong  and  healthy  —  don't  you  think  we 
would  readily  allow  her  to  go? 

HADDA  PADDA  [throws  her  arms  around  his  neck]. 
Father,  I  was  sure  that  you  .  .  . 

LADY  ANNA.     That  would  be  quite  another  thing. 

THE  JUDGE.  Then  you  would  realise  that  you  could 
do  without  her. 

LADY  ANNA.  But  you  don't  mean,  that  any  one  else 
can  fill  her  place  — 

HADDA  PADDA.  Mother,  you  think  so  much  of  Helga. 
I  have  talked  to  her,  and  she  is  willing  to  help  you. 

THE  JUDGE.  There  you  are!  Can  you  imagine  any 
one  better? 

LADY  ANNA.  It  is  not  only  that —  If  they  were 
married,  it  would  be  quite  proper  for  them  to  go  abroad 
together. 

HADDA  PADDA  [looks  angrily  at  her  mother,  but  says 
nothing]. 

THE  JUDGE  [discovers  it.  Walks  up  to  his  wife,  and 
lays  his  arm  on  her  shoulder].  We  have  not  grown  so 


Act  I]  Hadda  Padda  27 

old  as  you  would  have  us.  [Heartily.']  Perhaps  then, 
it  is  not  proper  for  an  old  venerable  judge  to  be  as  much 
in  love  with  his  silver-haired  wife  as  when  they  were 
engaged.  But  he  can't  help  it,  and  that's  just  the  rea- 
son, he  still  understands  love  in  young  people.  [To 
Hadda.]  Ask  your  mother  once  more  to  let  you  go. 
Maybe  she  will  when  she  knows  you  have  my  consent. 

LADY  ANNA.  Well,  I  see  what  this  is  leading  to. 
You  know  I  don't  usually  oppose  you. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Father,  you're  always  so  good  to  me. 
[Kisses  him.] 

THE  JUDGE  [in  a  whisper  to  Hadda~\.  Now  kiss  your 
mother  too ! 

HADDA  PADDA.  Nice  mother !  I  will  be  twice  as  much 
pleasure  to  you  when  I  come  back.  [Kisses  her-] 

LITTLE  SKULI  [enters].  Hadda  Padda,  do  you  want 
the  ship  to  have  two  or  three  masts? 

HADDA  PADDA.  Now  let  me  see,  my  boy.  [Goes  out 
with  him.] 

THE  JUDGE.  To-morrow  —  that  will  be  a  happy  day. 
At  last  I  shall  see  my  fondest  wish  fulfilled,  mine  and 
my  dear  old  friend's  —  that  our  children  should  belong 
to  each  other.  I  never  suspected  this  would  happen 
when  Hrafnhild  went  abroad  last  year. 

LADY  ANNA.  And  now  she  is  to  go  with  him  again. 
She  has  much  to  thank  her  father  for. 

THE  JUDGE.  I  think  time  has  kept  them  apart  long 
enough. —  I  had  a  long  talk  with  Helga  the  other  day 
—  they  are  very  good  friends,  you  know,  and  she  was  in 
Copenhagen  at  the  same  time  as  Hadda  last  year.  She 
told  me  that  Ingolf  had  quite  given  up  his  studies,  and 
it  was  Hadda  Padda  who  made  him  take  them  up  again. 
.  .  .  From  Christmas  on,  last  year,  he  studied  from 
morning  to  night, —  and  now  he  will  pass  his  examina- 
tion, and  begin  here  as  an  attorney.  Then  they  will 
probably  marry  next  autumn. 

LADY  ANNA  [nods].     He  must  be  kind  to  Hrafnhild 


28  Hadda  Padda  [Act  I 

—  she  is  more  than  just  fond  of  him.  Have  you  noticed 
that  she  is  beginning  to  resemble  him? 

THE  JUDGE.  Now,  in  spite  of  everything,  I  think 
we  are  beginning  to  grow  old;  our  sight  is  failing  us. 

LADY  ANNA.  Not  my  sight.  Listen  to  me.  You 
should  have  seen  her  with  the  flowers  this  summer  while 
she  was  home.  When  she  watered  them,  she  talked  with 
them  as  if  they  could  understand  her.  It  was  as  if  she 
returned  every  rise  of  fragrance  with  a  smile.  And 
the  flowers  thrived  and  blossomed,  as  if  they  absorbed 
her  tenderness. 

THE  JUDGE.  I  have  noticed  something  else  lately: 
that  every  time  she  comes  into  a  room  it  is  as  though  the 
air  were  filled  with  the  beauty  of  peace.  I  could  have 
myself  blindfolded,  and  all  Reykavik  could  walk  through 
the  room  on  soles  of  velvet  —  when  she  entered  I  could 
recognize  her  by  the  delightful  calm  that  accompanies 
her. 

LADY  ANNA.  This  excessive  love  ...  it  is  worrying 
me.  Maybe  it  was  mostly  on  that  account  that  I  de- 
layed agreeing  to  her  departure. 

THE  JUDGE.  There  are  so  many  things  that  worry 
you.  Why  doesn't  Ingolf  come  back?  [Kisses  her  on 
the  cheek. ]  I  will  talk  to  him  about  it.  [Goes  out.] 

RANNVEIG  [enters].  The  servants  want  to  know  how 
many  places  to  lay  for  dinner. 

LADY  ANNA  [putting  aside  her  needlework].  Well, 
I'm  coming —  [Goes  out.] 

RANNVEIG  [walks  slowly  to  the  centre  of  the  room, 
stands  looking  at  the  terra  cotta  statue].  When  you 
dream  something,  you  don't  want  to  come  true,  you 
ought  to  tell  it  to  some  one  —  better  to  a  stone  than  to 
no  one.  [Hands  folded,  she  walks  slowly  up  to  the 
statue,  whispering  in  its  ear.]  I  dreamed  of  a  beauti- 
ful and  marvellous  diamond  palace.  I  walked  around 
it,  but  it  had  no  doors.  No  one  could  get  in.  If  any 
one  were  inside,  he  could  not  get  out.  I  heard  weeping 


Act  I]  Hadda  Padda  29 

inside  the  palace.  It  seemed  to  tear  my  heart.  I  rec- 
ognised the  weeping —  [She  passes  her  hand  over  her 
eyes,  looks  at  the  statue  a  long  time,  walks  away  from 
it,  looks  back  at  it  once  more,  and  goes  out.  In  the  door- 
way she  encounters  Hadda,  looks  at  her,  pats  her  cheek, 
and  disappears.] 

HADDA  PADDA  [enters  with  a  water  jug  in  her  hand, 
•walks  up  to  a  flower  in  the  window]. 

INGOLF   [enters  and  steals  up  to  her]. 

INGOLF.  Now  I  know  the  secret.  You  are  going  with 
me  to  Copenhagen.  Hadda  Padda,  Hadda  Padda,  I  love 
you !  Let  me  sing  to  you.  [He  takes  both  her  hands 
and  while  he  sings,  wild  with  joy,  she  hums  the  tune.] 

You  shall  stand  upon  my  skis, 

In  a  mad  precipitation 

We,  together,  cleave  the  breeze: 

We  will, 

My  daffodil! 

To  the  place  where  we'll  abide 
On  my  white  horse  you'll  be  riding: 
Clouds  of  dust  the  moon  will  hide  — 
They  will, 
My  daffodil! 

[He  lifts  her  in  his  arms.  The  sun  is  shining  through 
the  window  and  lights  up  the  room.] 

HADDA  PADDA  [stretches  her  arms  toward  the  light]. 
It  is  as  though  I  had  wings.  [Turns  round  in  his  arms, 
and  folds  him  in  her  embrace.]  I  will  fly  to  my  happi- 
ness. 


CURTAIN 


ACT     II 


ACT    II 

The  folio-wing  summer.  A  drawing-room  in  the 
Sheriff's  house.  The  furniture  old-fashioned  and  elabo- 
rate. On  the  left,  a  door  leading  to  the  dining-room. 
Against  the  wall,  in  front,  a  piano.  On  the  right, 
under  a  window,  a  chaise-longue.  In  the  back,  an  open 
window,  through  which  can  be  seen  green  meadows, 
rising  to  a  plateau,  over  the  edge  of  which  roars  a  water- 
fall. At  the  horizon,  deep  blue  mountains.  Bright  sun- 
shine, a  hot  summer's  day. 

In  the  middle  of  the  room,  around  a  table,  set  for 
coffee,  the  Sheriff  and  Lady  Margaret,  Olof  and  Stein- 
dor,  Ingolf,  Hrafnhild  and  Kristrun  are  sitting.  The 
children,  Little  Skull,  Sigga,  Doddi  and  Magga  are 
seated  at  a  small  table  near  the  window. 

OLOF  [to  the  children].  You  may  go  out  now,  chil- 
dren. 

THE  CHILDREN   [rise]. 

SIGGA  [To  Olof].  Mother,  when  may  we  go  berry- 
picking  with  Hadda  Padda? 

HADDA  PADDA  [smiles  at  the  children].  We'll  go 
next  Sunday. 

OLOF.  Now  go  out  and  play!  It's  such  lovely 
weather ! 

STEINDOR.  And  you  may  build  your  little  play-house, 
but  not  in  the  part  that  isn't  mowed. 

SKULI.     Come  along,  children ! 

DODDI.     Come  along!      [The  children  go  out.] 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  had  a  letter  from  my  friend  Helga 
33 


34  Hadda  Padda  [Act  II 

to-day.  She  writes  she  is  coining  to  see  me  for  the 
week-end. 

THE  SHERIFF.  We  expect  quite  a  few  people  over 
the  week-end.  I  had  a  letter  from  Ami,  the  tourist 
guide,  who  says  he'll  be  here  with  six  tourists  next 
Sunday. 

STEINDOR.  How  are  we  going  to  accommodate  all 
these  people? 

LADY  MARGARET.  Yes,  it  is  true,  every  summer  we 
have  more  and  more  guests.  But,  what  difference  does  it 
make  —  The  rooms  of  Breidabol  are  still  large  enough. 

OLOF  [to  Steindor],  You  can  room  with  Ingolf  for 
the  present.  [To  Hadda.']  And  I'll  move  in  with  you. 
Then  we'll  have  an  extra  room. 

THE  SHERIFF.  My,  but  will  you  really  be  here 
three  weeks  to-morrow?  It's  so  good  to  have  both  sisters 
at  the  same  time.  You  haven't  been  here  together  since 
you  were  tiny  little  tots  —  just  so  high! 

KRISTRUN.  I  would  have  been  here  last  year,  if  I 
hadn't  been  sick. 

THE  SHERIFF.  .  .  .  Well,  let's  not  lose  any  more 
time,  [Gets  up]  Steindor,  we  are  behind  in  our  work. 
[They  go  out.  Then  all  get  up.  Ingolf  goes  over  to 
the  arm-chair  near  the  window,  and  sits  down.~\ 

LADY  MARGARET  [going  out].  Will  you  clear  the 
table,  Olla  dear. 

HADDA  PADDA  [assists  Olof].  Shall  we  all  go  for  a 
walk  now?  It's  a  glorious  day! 

OLOF  [taking  the  coffee  things  into  the  dining-room]. 
Yes,  I  just  have  some  time  to  spare. 

KRISTRUN.  I'm  not  going  out  again,  I've  just  come 
in. 

HADDA  PADDA  [taking  Ingolf "s  hand].  You  look  so 
tired  to-day.  .  .  .  Shall  we  go? 

INGOLF.     It's  cooler  indoors. 

HADDA  PADDA  [in  the  same  tone,  as  if  she  had  not 
addressed  Ingolf].  Olof,  shall  we  go? 


Act  II]  Hadda  Padda  35 

OLOF.  Yes,  Hadda  dear.  [Takes  her  arm  —  they 
go.  Ingolf  leans  back  in  the  arm-chair  and  closes  his 
eyes.] 

KRISTRUN  [jumps  on  top  of  the  chaise-longue,  swings 
her  arms  crying].  Ingolf!  Ride  me  pickaback! 
Right  now !  [Ingolf  looks  at  her,  smiling,  casts  a  glance 
at  the  door  and  through  the  window,  as  he  approaches 
the  chaise-longue.  Kristrun  sits  gracefully  down  on  his 
shoulder.  Her  dress  is  drawn  rather  tightly,  so  that 
one  of  her  legs  shows.  He  takes  hold  of  her  leg  to  sup- 
port her,  and  starts  walking  around  the  table.] 

KRISTRUN  [raises  her  head  and  looks  into  his  eyes]. 
Will  you  be  a  good  boy  and  take  hold  above  the  dress. 
[Lets  go,  and  raises  herself.]  You  silly  boy,  do  you 
think  you  may  hold  me  by  my  leg? 

INGOLF.  Well  —  I  don't  want  to  hold  you  by  your 
leg! 

KRISTRUN  [grasps  him  around  the  shoulder].  You 
silly  boy!  Do  you  think  you  can  lower  your  shoulder! 
I'm  falling,  I'm  falling,  hold  on  to  my  leg!  [Ingolf 
walks  on.  They  hear  -footsteps.] 

KRISTRUN  [about  to  spring  down].  Somebody's 
coming!  Oh,  it's  only  the  children.  [Doddi  and  Skuli 
appear  in  the  doorway.] 

DODDI.  Isn't  father  here?  [The  boys  begin  to 
laugh.] 

KRISTRUN  [clicks  with  her  tongue].  There!  —  Now 
my  horse  must  run !  —  Now  run,  my  colt !  [Strokes  his 
hair.]  If  he  is  spirited,  I'll  call  him  Goldmane!  —  Ge- 
yap !  Ge-yap !  .  .  .  He  doesn't  want  to  be  called  Gold- 
mane?  Skuli,  hand  me  my  whip,  in  the  corner  there, 
right  by  the  sideboard.  [Points  into  the  dining- 
room.] 

LITTLE  SKULI.     To  beat  Ingolf!     No  indeed! 

KRISTRUN.  Doddi  dear,  you  do  it!  [Doddi  runs  for 
the  whip,  and  gives  it  to  her.  She  swings  the  whip 
around,  so  that  it  whizzes  in  the  air.  As  Ingolf  passes 


36  Hadda  Padda  [Act  II 

the  piano,  she  runs  the  knob  of  the  whip  along  the  key- 
board.] 

LITTLE  SKULI.     Let's  go,  Doddi.      [They  go  out.~\ 

KRISTRUN.     Are  you  tired? 

INGOLF.  I  seem  to  feel  lighter,  in  holding  you  on  my 
shoulder. 

KRISTRUN.     Hi  — !     Lighter? 

INGOLF.     Yes,  certainly ! 

KRISTRUN.     Hi  — !     In  carrying  me? 

INGOLF.  In  feeling  the  weight  of  your  body.  In  that 
way,  I  could  bear  you  to  the  end  of  the  world. 

KRISTRUN  [hops  down,  looks  straight  into  his  eyes]. 
Really  now,  I  refuse  to  listen  to  such  foolishness.  .  .  . 
Only  look  kindly  at  me  once,  instead  of  bearing  me  to  the 
end  of  the  world.  [Sits  down.] 

INGOLF.  Kindly !  —  Kristrun,  do  I  deserve  the 
cruelty  you  have  shown  me  these  last  days. —  Every 
moment  of  the  day  you  have  felt  my  soul  streaming  out 
to  you,  yet  you  choose  the  most  common  terms  to  de- 
scribe my  feelings,  and  pretend  not  to  recognize  them.  / 
have  been  inventing  new  pet-names  for  you  all  the  time, 
so  that  no  one  should  have  as  pretty  a  name  as  you,  so 
that  you  should  have  a  prettier  name  to-day  than  you  had 
yesterday.  You  pretend  not  to  hear  them.  I  have 
shown  you  every  tenderness,  but  by  your  pretence  you 
keep  it  at  sword's  length  from  you.  You  have  been  tor- 
turing me  in  this  way  now  for  three  days.  .  .  .  Look 
kindly  at  you !  Why,  every  time  I  look  at  you,  you  see 
my  eyes  shine  through  a  tearfilled  dimness  .  .  . 

KRISTRUN.     Have  you  seen  it  in  the  glass? 

INGOLF  [keeps  silent  for  a  while,  bites  his  lips,  turns 
away  from  her] .  Some  women  should  not  be  allowed  to 
be  pretty. 

KRISTRUN  [laughs,  dangling  her  foot].  Quite  right. 
But  men  in  turn,  ought  to  be  obliged  to  be  handsome  — 
otherwise  they  are  disgusting. 

INGOLF.     Kristrun!     Is  it  quite  impossible  to  talk  seri- 


Act  II]  Hadda  Padda  37 

ously  with  you?  Is  there  nothing  so  sacred  to  you  that 
you  wouldn't  ridicule  it? 

KRISTRUN.     Well — ? 

IN  GOLF.     No,  I  suppose  there  is  not. 

KRISTRUN.     .  .  .  Perhaps  more  than  you  think. 

INGOLF.  Why  do  you  let  me  suffer,  then?  Haven't 
I  confessed  my  love  to  you? 

KRISTRUN.     No,  you  haven't. 

INGOLF  [sits  down  at  her  side.  While  he  speaks  she 
sits  erect  in  the  chair,  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  her 
head  raised.  A  bright  smile  plays  on  her  half -open  lips. 
It  is  as  if  she  were  listening  to  a  beautiful  tale].  Are 
you  waiting  for  me  to  say  just  the  words:  I  love  you! 
Weren't  there  moments  when  I  made  a  greater  confes- 
sion, when  one  sigh,  one  glance,  told  you  more  than  these 
words?  But  you  are  not  satisfied  with  hearing  a  love 
like  the  fluttering  of  wings  in  the  dead  of  night,  you  want 
to  hear  it  sound  like  a  clarion  call  in  your  ears:  I  love 
you,  I  love  you !  .  .  .  To-day  I  saw  you  standing  at  the 
piano,  there;  each  feature  in  your  face  was  in  repose, 
each  move  blended  softly  into  fine  lines.  I  saw  you  as 
one  of  those  works  of  art  of  an  ancient  master,  which 
could  lure  the  infidel  to  believe  in  the  resurrection  of  the 
body.  What  was  my  surprise,  when  I  saw  you  move, 
and  walk  across  the  floor!  .  .  .  Even  your  dress,  alter- 
ing its  folds  with  the  rhythm  of  your  step,  becomes  mys- 
terious, like  the  sea  —  floating,  as  it  were,  with  life 
itself.  .  .  .  Only  that  fleeting  sparkle  from  your  eyes  as 
you  roll  them  upward  .  .  .  Or  when  you  are  lying  down, 
and  you  stretch  your  foot  out  —  so  supple,  that  the 
tension  on  your  arch  makes  your  instep  seem  higher  .  .  . 
And  then  your  everlasting  vivacity:  when  you  laugh,  the 
air  seems  to  float  with  tiny  fairies  ...  I  love  you,  Kris- 
trun,  only  you,  you,  you.  [Kristrun  still  gases  into 
space,  dreamily.  Ingolf  reaches  hesitatingly  for  her 
hand;  discreetly,  she  withdraws  it.~\ 

INGOLF   [gets    up].     Did   you   lie   to   me,    Kristrun? 


38  Hadda  Padda  [Act  II 

The  other  night,  when  I  told  you,  without  speaking,  for 
the  first  time,  just  as  plainly  as  now  with  words,  that  I 
loved  you:  we  heard  footsteps,  you  ran  away,  you 
turned  around  and  kissed  me,  and  disappeared  —  did  this 
sweet  kiss  then  lie,  was  it  only  a  moment's  impulse  that 
played  with  a  sacred  feeling? 

KRISTRUN.     It  was  not,  Ingolf. 

INGOLF.     But — ? 

KRISTRUN.  It  was  a  moment's  impulse  that  played 
with  a  moment's  impulse. 

INGOLF.     Perhaps  for  you,  but  not  for  me. 

KRISTRUN.  I  thought  your  silent  confession  that 
evening  was  sincere.  The  next  day,  I  overheard  a  con- 
versation between  you  and  Hrafnhild,  you  didn't  know 
I  was  there.  Perhaps  she  has  noticed  the  change  in 
you.  She  used  her  voice,  her  intelligence,  her  beauty, 
her  whole  appeal,  to  get  your  caresses.  And  she  got 
them,  many  and  warm. 

INGOLF.  You  yourself  say  that  I  have  changed.  You 
yourself  say  that  I  love  you. 

KRISTRUN.  I  myself  say  that  you  must  choose  between 
us. 

INGOLF.  My  heart  has  chosen,  Kristrun.  And  now 
my  hand  chooses.  \He  slowly  takes  the  ring  off  his 
finger.]  Are  you  satisfied  now? 

KRISTRUN.  Why  do  you  ask  so  sadly?  Do  you  do 
this  half-heartedly?  ...  I  don't  know  whether  I  can 
trust  you.  Only  yesterday,  when  she  called  you  away 
from  me,  my  heart  throbbed  with  joy.  The  air  about 
me  sang:  It  is  you  he  loves!  But  after  a  while,  when 
she  came  out,  she  passed  me  with  a  look  of  supremacy 
in  her  eyes.  I  saw  it,  I  saw  it  ...  you  are  com- 
pletely in  her  power. 

INGOLF.  Before  the  sun  sets  to-night,  you  will  have 
to  take  back  those  words. 

KRISTRUN.  I  fear  the  strength  of  her  words  when  she 
pleads  her  own  cause.  It  is  as  though  she  could  charm 


Act  II]  Hadda  Padda  39 

you  into  her  power  by  some  magic.  Do  you  know  what 
she  did  yesterday?  She  came  up  to  me  afterwards,  and 
tried  to  arouse  my  anger,  and  so  sure  was  she  of  her  vic- 
tory, that  she  gloried  in  it.  She  said  that  I  could  flirt 
with  any  one  I  wanted  —  she  held  the  love  of  the  finest 
man  in  Iceland. 

INGOLF.  Now  do  you  think  she  said  it  because  she 
was  so  sure? 

KRISTRUN  [does  not  answer].  "She  held  the  love  of 
the  finest  man  in  Iceland!  .  .  ."  Do  you  love  me,  In- 
golf? 

INGOLF.     You  don't  need  to  ask,  Kristrun. 

KRISTRUN.     Do  you  love  me? 

INGOLF.     I  love  you. 

KRISTRUN  [runs  to  the  chaise-longue,  and  throws  her- 
self upon  it;  she  sobs  audibly]. 

INGOLF.     What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Kristrun  ? 

KRISTRUN.     Why  don't  you  take  me  in  your  arms? 

INGOLF.  Now  I  am  —  Do  you  still  doubt?  I  lived 
behind  a  dark,  dark  wall.  Through  a  crack  in  the  wall 
a  streak  of  light  came  in.  I  loved  this  streak.  Then 
one  day  the  wall  tumbled  down,  and  I  bathed  in  a  white 
sea  of  sunshine.  Now  I  see  that  I  only  cared  for  Hrafn- 
hild  because  of  the  natural  likeness  between  you. 

KRISTRUN.  Do  you  think  I  would  ever  have  let  you 
suspect  that  I  cared  for  you,  if  I  did  not  know  that  you 
had  stopped  loving  Hrafnhild.  I  began  to  care  for  you 
a  long  time  ago,  Ingolf.  When  I  saw  how  happy  Hrafn- 
hild was,  it  seemed  to  dawn  upon  me  how  splendid  you 
are.  Every  one  envied  her.  You  can  imagine  how  I 
tried  to  crush  my  love.  But  it  grew  stronger  each  day, 
—  it  grew  like  a  thorn  into  my  heart.  Yet,  that  did  not 
matter.  As  long  as  I  knew  you  loved  Hrafnhild,  I  felt 
a  greater  obligation  to  my  sister  than  to  my  love. 
But  not  any  longer.  Even  were  I  to  sacrifice  all 
now,  what  would  she  gain,  since  you  don't  care  for 
her? 


40  Hadda  Padda  [Act  II 

INGOLF.  I'll  try  to  break  off  our  engagement  as 
gently  as  possible. 

KRISTRUN.  You  promised  to  do  it,  before  the  sun 
sets  to-night. 

INGOLF.  Surely,  when  I  tell  her  I  don't  love  her,  she 
won't  try  to  hold  me  any  longer. 

KRISTRUN  [looks  at  him  suspiciously.  In  order  to 
evade  her  glance,  he  bends  over  and  takes  her  in  his 
arms~\. 

INGOLF.  I  will  raise  you,  slowly  and  carefully,  like 
a  cup  brimful  of  intoxicating  wine.  [Kisses  her  a  long 
time.  Raises  her  up.  They  hear  footsteps  outside,  and 
listen.'] 

INGOLF.     It  is   Hrafnhild.      [Loosens   his   embrace.] 

KRISTRUN  [throws  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and 
clings  to  him].  Why  don't  you  want  her  to  see? 

INGOLF  [trying  to  free  himself].  You  are  not  so 
heartless,  Kristrun! 

HADDA  PADDA  [opens  the  door.  In  her  hand,  she  has 
a  bouquet  of  violets,  freshly  gathered.  A  subdued  smile 
lights  up  her  face.  As  soon  as  she  looks  in,  her  features 
become  distorted  with  horror.  She  takes  half  a  step 
backwards,  holding  her  hand  before  her  eyes,  as  if  to 
ward  off  a  blow.  A  feeble  cry,  filed  with  pain,  as  if 
torn  by  force  from  the  throat  is  expressed  in  the  word 
No! 

KRISTRUN.     It  is  I  you  love !     It  is  I  you  love ! 

INGOLF  [tears  himself  away].  Let  me  talk  to  Hrafn- 
hild alone. 

Hadda  Padda  stands  motionless  in  the  doorway,  so 
that  Kristrun  has  to  pass  her. 

INGOLF.  May  I  close  the  door  and  talk  to  you? 
[Hadda  Padda  moves  within  the  door  frame,  and  leans 
against  it.] 

INGOLF.  Hadda,  you  have  seen  now  that  I  am  no 
longer  worthy  of  your  love. 

HADDA  PADDA.     I  have  seen  nothing.     [Throws  the 


Act  II]  Hadda  Padda  41 

bouquet  on  the  table,  and  sits  down  on  the  chaise-longue, 
with  her  face  turned  toward  the  window.] 

INGOLF.  Don't  say  that,  Hrafnhild.  Even  forgive- 
ness demands  return,  and  I  cannot  return  yours. 

HADDA  PADDA  [Her  whole  frame  trembling], 

INGOLF.  I  didn't  think  you  could  mistake  my  attitude 
these  last  few  days.  [Both  keep  silent.] 

INGOLF.  But  now  —  from  to-day  on,  you  must  try  to 
forget  me. 

HADDA  PADDA  [gets  up].  Forget  —  why  should  I 
forget  my  lover? 

INGOLF.     Because  he  cannot  be  your  lover  any  longer. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Yes,  he  can;  he  promised.  He  prom- 
ised to  love  me  all  my  life. 

INGOLF.     He  did  not  know  what  he  promised. 

HADDA  PADDA  [sees  Ingolf's  hand  without  the  ring, 
grasps  it  with  horror,  whispers].  What  have  you 
done  ?  —  Ingolf,  it  cannot  be  true.  It  is  not  she  you 
love.  I  saw  you  push  her  from  you,  when  she  clung 
about  your  neck.  Say  she  told  you  a  lie,  when  she  cried. 
Only  say  something  —  say  that  suddenly  an  earthquake 
came,  and  she  threw  herself  in  your  arms  from  fear. 
I'll  believe  you. 

INGOLF   [shakes  his  head.] 

HADDA  PADDA.  Ingolf,  how  could  you  be  so  hard? 
[Hides  her  face.]  Any  other,  any  other. —  But  she! 
[Weeps  bitterly.] 

INGOLF.  It  is  not  that,  Hrafnhild.  Now  let  us  talk 
calmly.  Even  if  you  could,  would  you  continue  to  be  tied 
to  a  man  who  does  not  love  you  any  longer? 

HADDA  PADDA.  She  has  separated  us.  She  has 
caught  you  in  the  net  of  her  wantonness.  You,  too,  In- 
golf, you,  too.  .  .  .  When  I  looked  at  you,  you  could  see 
my  love  in  my  eyes.  But  she,  she  looked  at  you  through 
a  veil  of  wantonness,  so  that  your  imagination  might 
create  what  it  liked  behind  it  —  was  that  what  attracted 
you  ?  I  gave  you  all  that  I  had.  She  took  back  with  the 


42  Hadda  Padda  [Act  II 

left  hand  what  she  had  given  with  her  right  —  was  that 
what  attracted  you?  Ingulf,  do  you  value  such  a 
character?  Don't  you  know  how  she  is?  I  know  you 
think  she  loves  you.  So  she  has  told  them  all.  Her 
love  is  a  remorseless  beast  of  prey.  She  does  not  even 
spare  her  sister,  though  she  knows  you  are  the  only  man 
I  ever  loved.  But  she  must  have  this  triumph  —  this 
one,  too.  Are  you  going  to  yield  to  it? 

INGOLF.  You  are  mistaken,  Hrafnhild.  It  is  not  she 
who  parts  us.  I  feel  that  even  if  she  did  not  exist,  I 
could  no  longer  love  you  as  before. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Haven't  I  seen  you  in  each  other's 
arms  ?  Had  it  been  any  one  else,  Ingolf,  any  one  else,  I 
might  have  tried  to  bear  it;  but  she,  in  your  arms,  that 
thought  I  cannot  endure  ...  I  have  no  enemy  but  her. 
The  blood  that  flows  in  her  veins  deceives.  It  under- 
stands the  secrets  of  kinship,  and  knows  what  weapons 
can  beat  me.  .  .  .  She  was  but  a  little  girl  when  I  saw 
the  smile  of  the  conqueror  in  her  look,  if  she  felt  that 
young  men  who  called  on  us  paid  her  greater  attentions 
than  me.  But  it  did  not  touch  me.  I  was  no  rival.  In 
my  heart,  there  was  only  place  for  you.  Don't  you  see 
what  life  would  be  for  me,  should  she  triumph  now,  too. 

INGOLF   [keeps  silent."] 

HADDA  PADDA  [kneels  down,  grasping  his  Tenee~\.  In- 
golf, for  nine  years  have  I  run  up  the  stairs  at  home, 
j  ust  as  you  did,  on  the  day  you  went  away  —  two  steps 
at  a  time. 

INGOLF.  Get  up,  Hrafnhild.  [He  moves  a  step 
nearer  to  the  door.  Hadda  is  dragged  along  on  her 
knees."] 

HADDA  PADDA  [strokes  her  hand  over  his  knee~\. 
Ingolf,  Ingolf, — 

INGOLF   [takes  a  step  back~\.     Get  up,  Hrafnhild. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Ingolf,  I  laid  bare  my  love,  to  clothe 
yours.  I  did  it,  so  that  no  one  could  take  you  from  me. 
Do  you  remember  when  I  gave  you  all  a  woman  can  give  ? 


Act  II]  Hadda  Padda  43 

The  past  closed  behind  me,  and  I  was  a  different  being. 
I  took  your  head  in  both  my  hands.  "  Now  you  must  al- 
ways be  kind  to  me,"  I  said.  "  Always,"  you  said.  You 
are  not  kind  to  me  now,  Ingolf.  Had  you  not  stripped 
me  of  the  only  support  which  a  woman  must  have  to  bear 
life  alone,  I  might  have  been  able  to  endure  it.  But  you 
have  awakened  passions  hidden  in  me,  from  the  very 
depths  of  my  nature.  Whenever  you  were  away,  they 
cried  out  for  you  with  voices  like  children. 

INGOLF.  Stop,  Hrafnhild.  I  gave  you  my  word,  it 
is  true;  but  since  I  no  longer  care  for  you,  will  you  still 
hold  me  to  an  old  promise  that  was  made  when  I  loved 
you? 

HADDA  PADDA  [gets  up].  Not  an  old  one,  Ingolf. 
You  aren't  telling  the  truth  now.  [Pointing  out  of  the 
window.]  Is  it  old.  the  water  that  flows  down  the  river? 
Hasn't  every  day  we  have  lived  together  been  a  re- 
newal of  this  promise  ? 

INGOLF.  Maybe,  but  one  day  the  water  stopped  flow- 
ing. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Now  you  have  spoken  the  terrible 
truth.  Your  love  was  not  rich  enough,  and  you  knew  it 
from  the  first.  You  are  not  deceiving  me  to-day.  You 
deceived  me  the  day  you  made  me  believe  that  you  loved 
me,  but  you  were  not  strong  enough  to  be  sincere.  You 
felt  that  the  burning  love  of  a  devoted  woman  would  give 
you  a  new  spirit;  that  is  why  you  betrayed  me.  [Sinks 
bending  over  the  table,  bursting  into  tears.] 

INGOLF.  You  accuse  yourself  with  these  angry  words. 
Why  did  you  accept  this  insincerity  for  so  long? 

HADDA  PADDA.  Because  I  saw  it  too  late.  My  soul 
was  spirited  up  into  the  mountain,  so  that  no  disappoint- 
ment could  take  me  from  you.  But  so  it  was.  Often 
when  you  were  satiated  with  pleasure,  you  failed  to  show 
me  any  regard.  What  could  I  do?  Nothing  but  con- 
tinue to  believe  that  I  would  keep  your  love  alive  by 
the  strength  of  my  own.  I  know  now,  why  you  didn't 


44  Hadda  Padda  [Act  II 

dare  to  meet  my  look  openly.  Ingolf,  you  knew  from 
the  beginning,  that  you  might  meet  a  woman  you  could 
love  more,  but  meanwhile  you  took  me,  intending  to  turn 
from  me  when  that  time  came.  [Weeps.]  If  only  I 
had  never  known  you. 

INGOLF.  I  remember  a  great  many  times  —  you  said 
that  you  didn't  understand  how  rich  life  was  before  you 
knew  me,  and  that  whatever  fate  would  be,  you  would 
never  regret  having  given  yourself  to  me.  Now  I  know 
how  sincerely  you  meant  those  words. 

HADDA  PADDA.  You  don't  hear  how  cruel  your  words 
are. —  I  know,  Ingolf,  I  said  it.  I  said  it  when  I 
couldn't  control  my  tongue  for  gladness.  But  we  never 
know  ourselves  until  we  stand  on  the  edge  between  joy 
and  sorrow,  and  now,  having  touched  happiness,  I  can- 
not live  without  grasping  it.  I  cannot,  Ingolf,  I  can- 
not live  without  you. 

INGOLF.  Could  you  get  any  happiness  out  of  life 
with  a  man  who  does  not  love  you? 

HADDA  PADDA  [silent,  gets  up,  and  walks  up  to  the 
piano,  leaning  heavily  against  it], 

INGOLF   [takes  out  the  ring,  and  puts  it  on  the  table]. 

HADDA  PADDA  [does  not  stir].  Ingolf,  this  is  my 
last  request.  Don't  make  our  separation  harder  than 
necessary.  I  cannot  remain  in  your  home  when  they  all 
know  it.  Do  me  the  favor  of  wearing  the  ring  till  I 
leave  for  home.  You  won't  have  to  wait  long.  Will  you 
promise  me  that? 

INGOLF  [holds  the  ring  in  his  hand  without  answer- 
ing], 

HADDA  PADDA.     This  is  my  last  request. 

INGOLF.     I  promise.     [Puts  the  ring  on  his  hand.] 

HADDA  PADDA  [watches  him  as  he  puts  it  on]. 


CURTAIN 


ACT     III 


ACT    III 

Slope  of  a  valley  overgrown  with  brush  and  heather 
and  flowers.  Toward  the  rear  on  the  left,  a  beautiful 
cataract  rushes  down  from  a  great  height  between  steep 
cliffs.  On  the  right,  a  rock  shuts  out  the  bottom  of  the 
falls,  and  part  of  the  river.  In  the  background  is  a 
mountainous  landscape.  It  is  an  exquisite  summer  eve- 
ning and  the  sun  is  playing  on  the  water  in  ever  chang- 
ing colours.  The  stage  is  empty.  From  beneath  the 
falls  a  song  is  heard,  even  before  the  rise  of  the  curtain. 

A  little  before  the  song  ends,  Hadda  Padda  enters 
from  the  left,  accompanied  by  the  children.  She  wears  a 
light  summer  dress  with  a  chiffon  scarf  thrown  over  her 
shoulders.  The  children  have  come  prepared  to  gather 
berries.  One  has  a  wooden  box,  one  a  coloured  glass 
bottle  half  filled  with  berries,  etc.  They  stop  to  listen 
until  the  song  is  finished. 

MAOGA.     Who  was  singing? 

HADDA  PADDA.  The  summer  guests  down  at  the  falls. 
—  Well,  children,  hurry  now  and  gather  your  berries. 
We'll  be  going  home  soon.  {Pointing  to  the  right. ] 
See  that  hollow?  There  must  be  lots  of  berries  in 
there.  [Sits  down  on  a  stone.~\ 

SIGGA.  Aren't  you  coming  along  with  us,  Hadda 
Padda? 

HADDA  PADDA.  No,  you  bring  your  berries  back  to 
me. 

SIGGA  [turning  the  bottle  over  in  her  palm].  Do 
you  want  some? 

HADDA  PADDA  [staying  her  off] .  No,  no  —  not  now. 
47 


48  Hadda  Padda  [Act  III 

DODDI.  Oh,  Hadda!  I'll  gather  the  bluest  berries 
for  you. 

LITTLE  SKULI.  When  /  come  back  I'll  bring  you  ber- 
ries and  flowers  too. 

MAGGA.     You  won't  wait  for  us,  Hadda  Padda. 

HADDA  PADDA  [nodding  assent  —  hand  under  cheek]. 
No  —  no. 

ALL  THE  CHILDREN.     Aren't  you  going  to  wait  for  us  ? 

HADDA  PADDA  [with  a  start,  recovering  herself], 
Wait  for  you,  yes  —  yes,  of  course  —  do  you  think  I 
would  run  away  from  you  ?  I  will  wait  here  till  you  come 
back.  [The  children  go  off  to  the  right.  Hadda  re- 
mains seated  for  a  moment,  rises  absent-mindedly,  walks 
to  and  fro  thoughtfully,  sometimes  stumbling.  Then 
she  sits  down  again,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands.] 

AN  HERBORIST  [enters  from  the  right.  On  her  shoul- 
der she  is  carrying  a  canvas  bag,  half  filled  with  herbs. 
She  wears  a  knitted  shawl  and  a  parti-colored  kerchief 
on  her  head.  In  her  hand,  she  holds  a  large  knife  in  a 
leather  sheath].  Good  evening,  young  lady! 

HADDA  PADDA   [startled].     Good  evening,  Arngerd! 

HERBORIST  [putting  the  bag  aside],  I  seemed  to 
recognise  one  of  the  sisters.  It  is  you  they  call  Hadda 
Padda. 

HADDA  PADDA.     I  came  berrying  with  the  children. 

HERBORIST.  I  saw  them  down  in  the  hollow. —  It  is 
lucky  to  visit  the  falls  to-night. —  I  heard  the  song. — 
What  a  beautiful  day!  [Sits  down] — Just  look  at  the 
evening  glow  on  that  rock!  [Smiles.]  Its  furrows 
seem  like  ruddy  smiling  lips ! 

HADDA  PADDA   [looking  up].     Like  bleeding  wounds. 

HERBORIST.     Is  the  young  lady  in  low  spirits? 

HADDA  PADDA   [keeps  silent]. 

HERBORIST  [looking  at  the  slope].  What  a  host  of 
blessed  flowers!  I'll  soon  get  my  bag  filled  here. 
There  are  some  of  the  right  kind  among  them  I'm  sure. 

HADDA  PADDA.     That  is  a  pretty  bag  you  have. 


Act  III]  Hadda  Padda  49 

HERBORIST.  I  thought  it  an  insult  to  the  flowers  to 
put  them  in  a  coarse  sack,  so  I  took  my  pillow  case. 

HADDA  PADDA.     Are  there  only  flowers  in  it? 

HERBORIST.     They  are  healing  plants. 

HADDA  PADDA.  That's  true.  You  heal  with 
herbs.  .  .  .  You  believe  in  their  power? 

HERBORIST.  I  believe  in  a  fact  that  cannot  be 
doubted.  And  I  am  quite  sure  that  there  is  no  disease 
that  could  not  be  healed  by  herbs,  if  people  knew  enough 
about  their  mysteries. 

HADDA  PADDA.  There  are  wounds,  I  suppose,  that 
only  death  can  heal. 

HERBORIST  [looking  down  into  the  bag,  she  takes  out 
an  herb}.  I  think  the  young  lady  is  very  depressed. 
Shall  I  show  her  an  herb  that  can  heal  many  ills? 

HADDA  PADDA.     A  lady-slipper? 

HERBORIST.  It  is  also  called  the  love  flower.  ...  If 
you  would  gain  a  man's  heart  you  slip  it  under  his  pil- 
low. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Don't  you  see  the  ring  on  my  finger? 
Don't  you  know  my  sweetheart? 

HERBORIST.  Yes,  certainly. —  He  was  a  handsome 
boy.  [Plays  with  the  bag,  as  she  hums.}  : 

"  When  love  is  the  strongest,  it  leads  to  your  fall, 
A  maid's  happy  longest,  who  heeds  no  man's  call." 

HADDA  PADDA  [drawing  her  scarf  more  closely  around 
her}.  Do  you  hear  the  flies  buzzing? 

HERBORIST   [looking  deep  down  into  the  bag}.     Yes. 

HADDA  PADDA.     It  is  like  the  sound  of  a  burning  wick. 

HERBORIST   [does  not  hear}. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Now  there  is  only  one  left. —  It  is 
buzzing  around  my  head.  [Putting  her  hand  on  the  arm 
of  the  herborist.}  Say  something  to  me,  good  healer. 

HERBORIST.  Pretty  are  her  hands!  Were  they 
chapped  or  sore  I  would  heal  them  with  yarrow  oint- 
ment. [Taking  up  a  yarrow.} 


50  Hadda  Padda  [Act  III 

HADDA  PADDA.     Can  that  be  done  ? 

HERBORIST.  Oh,  yes,  with  finely  cut  yarrow,  boiled 
in  fresh  new  butter.  [Puts  the  plant  aside,  picks  up  a 
dandelion.] 

HADDA  PADDA.     What  do  you  use  the  dandelion  for? 

HERBORIST.  If  the  young  lady  had  warts  on  her 
hands,  I  would  rub  them  with  the  milk  of  the  dande- 
lion, and  the  warts  would  vanish.  [Takes  up  a  new 
plant.] 

HADDA  PADDA.     What  do  you  call  this  flower? 

HERBORIST.  Doesn't  she  know  the  sun-dew?  It  is  a 
cure  for  freckles. 

HADDA  PADDA  [taking  the  flower"].  Ah!  I  know 
this. —  You  cruel  pretty  little  flower !  With  your  beauty 
you  lure  the  insects  to  you.  Then  you  close  on  them, 
and  kill  them.  You  cruel  pretty  little  flower!  Do  you 
know  my  sister?  [Puts  the  sun-dew  aside.] 

HERBORIST  [holding  a  new  plant  in  her  hand].  This 
is  the  grass  of  Parnassus.  It  makes  a  good  hair-oint- 
ment.—  Pretty  is  the  young  lady's  hair. 

HADDA  PADDA.  You  have  dug  up  all  the  flowers  by 
the  roots. 

HERBORIST  [pointing  to  the  knife].  I  cut  them  up 
by  the  roots.  They  must  not  lose  their  power.  They 
are  all  alive. —  Shall  I  tell  you  more  ? 

HADDA  PADDA.     Not  now,  thank  you. 

HERBORIST  [puts  the  flowers  into  the  bag;  points  to 
the  sky].  Look  how  red  the  clouds  are!  —  I  think  we'll 
have  fine  weather  to-morrow. 

HADDA  PADDA.     Do  you  think  so? 

HERBORIST.  Evening-glow  means  warm,  morning- 
glow  means  storm. 

HADDA  PADDA  [is  silent]. 

HERBORIST.     Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  long? 

HADDA  PADDA.  You  have  such  a  peaceful  smile  on 
your  face.  Are  you  always  so  contented? 

HERBORIST.     I  have  no  reason  not  to  be. 


Act  III]  Hadda  Padda  51 

HADDA  PADDA.  Have  you  never  been  discontented 
with  life? 

HERBORIST.  Yes,  when  I  deserved  it.  But  when 
one  is  kind  to  every  one,  life  brings  peace  and  happi- 
ness. 

HADDA  PADDA.     Has  kindness  never  taken  revenge? 

HERBORIST.  Kindness  does  not  take  revenge.  It  is 
only  evil  that  takes  revenge. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Then  you  have  been  obedient  to  your 
fate? 

HERBORIST.  What  I  say  is  true,  my  girl.  Life  treats 
us  as  we  deserve.  We  cannot  get  rid  of  our  past.  Na- 
ture is  a  righteous  judge. 

HADDA  PADDA.     Nature  is  heartless  and  blind. 

HERBORIST.  Nature  is  a  righteous  judge.  I  shall 
never  forget  something  that  happened  thirty  years  ago. 
I  lived  at  the  sea-shore  then.  One  day,  when  I  was 
washing  fish  with  some  other  girls,  we  saw  a  woman 
from  the  farm  take  her  child  by  the  hand  and  lead  her 
out  to  a  jutting  rock  —  when  the  flood  tide  came  it  took 
her.  .  .  . 

HADDA  PADDA  [looking  up]. 

HERBORIST.  .  .  .  The  case  was  brought  before  the 
judge.  The  mother  insisted  that  she  had  left  the  child 
on  the  ridge,  and  that  it  must  have  walked  down  to  the 
shore  while  she  was  gathering  some  dulse.  Each  of  us 
had  to  point  out  the  spot  where  she  had  left  the  child, 
but  the  mother  pointed  to  the  ridge.  As  she  raised  her 
three  fingers  to  swear  that  it  was  true,  a  wave  rose,  and 
out  of  it  shot  a  white  column  of  foam.  It  stretched  like 
an  arm  into  the  air  —  like  an  arm  with  three  swearing 
fingers.  The  sea  itself  swore  against  her. 

HADDA  PADDA  [A  cold  shiver  runs  through  her.  She 
draws  her  scarf  more  closely  around  her].  It  is  so 
strangely  cold  here. 

HERBORIST.  The  sun  is  going  down.  I  had  better  be 
going.  [The  bag  upsets,  and  some  plants  slip  out.] 


52  Hadda  Padda  [Act  III 

HADDA  PADDA.  The  dandelion  is  slipping  out  of  the 
bag.  Grant  the  dandelion  its  life. 

HERBORIST.  I  can't  grant  the  dandelion  its  life. 
Perhaps  to-morrow  a  mother  will  come  with  her  little 
girl.  "  Rid  her  of  her  warts,"  she  will  say,  "  for  her 
hands  are  so  fine."  .  .  . 

HADDA  PADDA  [takes  the  dandelion  in  her  hands}. 
Grant  the  dandelion  its  life.  Do  you  see  how  it  stretches 
its  thousand  delicate  fingers  to  the  fading  light?  If  you 
plant  it  again,  it  will  close  up  and  be  silent  a  whole 
night  with  joy. 

HERBORIST.  You  are  silent  and  you  don't  smile  —  is 
it  with  joy? 

HADDA  PADDA.     You  must  not  ask  me  that. 

HERBORIST.  Smile,  and  I  will  grant  the  dandelion  its 
life. 

HADDA  PADDA.     Now  I  am  smiling. 

HERBORIST  [thrusts  her  hand  into  the  bag].  Tell  me 
of  your  joy,  young  woman.  Each  time  you  give  an  an- 
swer you  grant  a  flower  its  life. — 

Of  all  things, —  what  is  the  softest  you  have  ever  felt? 

HADDA  PADDA.  The  hair  on  my  cheek  when  my  lover 
stroked  it. 

HERBORIST  [taking  a  plant  from  the  bag}.  Now  you 
have  granted  the  yarrow  its  life. —  Tell  me  of  your  joy, 
young  woman.  What  made  your  hand  so  pretty? 

HADDA  PADDA.  Happiness  made  my  hand  so  pretty. 
It  has  smoothed  back  the  hair  from  the  most  beautiful 
forehead. 

HERBORIST  [taking  out  another  plant}.  Now  you 
have  granted  the  catch-fly  its  life. —  What  cast  the  shade 
of  sorrow  in  your  eyes? 

HADDA  PADDA.  Now  you  are  not  asking  me  of  joy. 
Now  I  will  not  answer. 

HERBORIST  [shows  her  a  new  plant,  fondling  the 
flower}.  Why  shall  the  violet  die? 


Act  III]  Hadda  Padda  53 

HADDA  PADDA.  Do  not  ask  me  why  the  violet  shall 
die.  ...  I  want  to  be  alone. 

HERBORIST  [gets  up,  puts  the  bag  on  her  shoulder, 
takes  the  knife  and  flowers].  God  bless  thee,  young 
woman!  The  Lord  be  with  thee,  Hadda  Padda.  [Dis- 
appears to  the  left.] 

[The  sun  sets  behind  the  mountains  and  twilight  grad- 
ually descends.  Hadda  Padda  sits  gazing  into  space. 
Suddenly  she  is  startled  by  voices,  and  she  disappears 
into  the  bushes.  Native  and  foreign  tourists  come  from 
behind  the  rock,  two  by  two,  crossing  the  stage,  con- 
versing. German  and  French  are  heard.  Behind  them 
all,  comes] 

A  YOUNG  WOMAN  [waiting  till  the  others  are  gone,  she 
calls].  Hadda  Padda!  .  .  .  Hadda!  .  .  .  Hrafnhild! 
[She  shades  her  eyes  with  her  hand.]  There  they  are! 
[Goes  out  to  the  right.] 

[Ingolf  and  Kristrun  enter  from  behind  the  rock.] 

INGOLF  [stops].  Look,  there  are  the  children  gather- 
ing berries.  .  .  .  Do  you  see  Hrafnhild? 

KRISTRUN.  No,  but  I  see  Helga  walking  toward 
them. 

INGOLF.  I  wonder  if  Hrafnhild  is  down  in  the  hol- 
low? 

KRISTRUN.     Perhaps  she  is. 

INGOLF.  We  won't  pass  there  then.  Let's  rest  here 
for  a  moment.  [Sits  down.] 

KRISTRUN.  You  act  as  if  Hrafnhild  were  still  your 
sweetheart. 

INGOLF.     What  do  you  mean? 

KRISTRUN.  I  thought  you  wanted  to  show  me  the 
greater  consideration.  But  it  is  quite  the  contrary. 
Sometimes  you  are  positively  hard  to  me,  just  to  spare 
Hrafnhild  every  conceivable  annoyance. 

INGOLD.  Do  you  remember  the  day  after — .  When 
she  walked  around  trying  to  smile  to  every  one.  She 


54  Hadda  Padda  [Act  III 

was  like  a  sick  butterfly.  You  didn't  complain  then  that 
I  was  too  considerate  to  her. 

KRISTRUN  [disregarding  his  remark'}.  You  and  she 
—  you  wear  the  rings  —  you  are  the  lovers  in  every 
one's  opinion!  And  I  have  to  endure  it. 

INGOLF.  You  gave  your  consent  for  us  to  wear  the 
rings  till  we  leave  here. 

KRISTRUN.  My  consent,  yes !  If  it  is  a  consent  that 
you  made  me  pity  her.  I  don't  think  she  needs  any  pity 
now. 

INGOLF.  Yes,  it  is  very  strange, —  to-day,  to-day  and 
yesterday  she  has  been  tingling  with  joy. 

KRISTRUN  [sitting  down].  Now  you  can  see  how 
deeply  her  love  touched  her.  After  one  week  she's  as 
though  nothing  had  ever  happened. 

INGOLF.  Hrafnhild  is  proud  by  nature.  She  would 
never  let  it  be  seen  that  an  unfortunate  love  affair  could 
make  her  miserable. 

KRISTRUN.  Yes,  she  is  proud  by  nature,  she  is  every- 
thing fine. —  And  I  —  I  am  nothing.  [Tears  in  her 
eyes.] 

INGOLF.  You  are  the  loveliest  woman  in  the  world. 
[Embraces  her.] 

HADDA  PADDA  [appears  between  the  bushes,  seeing 
them  she  stops  an  instant,  then  goes  toward  them].  I 
didn't  know  you  were  here. 

INGOLF  [gets  up].  We  have  just  come  from  the 
falls. 

HADDA  PADDA.  And  I  was  just  gathering  berries. 
Aren't  my  lips  blue?  .  .  .  Why  are  you  so  silent,  Runa, 
dear? 

KRISTRUN   [does  not  answer], 

HADDA  PADDA  [in  a  changed  voice].  I  am  going 
away  to-morrow. 

INGOLF.     Going  away  to-morrow? 

KRISTRUN.     Going  away — ? 

HADDA  PADDA.     I  leave  to-morrow.     I'm  going  with 


Act  III]  Hadda  Padda  55 

Helga. —  Let  us  part  friends. —  I  have  only  one  thing 
to  say  to  you  before  I  go. 

INGOLF.     What  is  that? 

HADDA  PADDA.  You  may  feel  safe  now.  I  won't  be 
the  shadow  in  your  sunny  path.  ...  I  don't  love  you 
any  longer,  Ingolf.  [Ingolf  and  Kristrun  look  at  her 
amazed.] 

HADDA  PADDA.  Nor  do  I  bear  you  a  grudge  .  .  . 
that  is  why  I  can  tell  you  this. 

INGOLF.  I  always  knew  you  were  high-minded, 
Hrafnhild,  but  — 

HADDA  PADDA.  And  Runa,  dear,  won't  we  be  the 
same  friendly  sisters  we  have  always  been?  [Strokes 
her  hair.']  Do  you  want  to  see  that  I  love  you  as  much 
as  ever?  [Takes  her  hand.~\  Come,  let  me  take  you  in 
my  arms. 

KRISTRUN  [bursting  into  tears,  she  throws  herself  into 
Hadda' s  arms],  Hadda,  dear  — 

HADDA  PADDA  [presses  Kristrun  violently  to  her 
breast], 

KRISTRUN  [throwing  her  head  back].  Hadda,  Hadda, 
you  are  hurting  me ! 

HADDA  PADDA  [lets  go  of  her, —  turns  to  Ingolf]. 
And  now  I  would  like  to  speak  to  you  for  a  moment. 
May  I  ? 

INGOLF.     Yes,  certainly. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Oh,  there's  Helga.  She  is  looking 
for  me.  Runa,  dear,  may  I  say  a  few  words  to  Ingolf? 
You  meet  Helga,  and  start  for  home  with  her,  won't 
you? 

KRISTRUN.     I'll  do  that,  Hadda.     [Hurries  away.] 

HADDA  PADDA  [sits  down].  I  think  I  have  discov- 
ered that  you  don't  really  enjoy  your  new  happiness. 
That  is  why  I  want  to  talk  to  you. 

INGOLF.     You  have  told  me  all  I  want  to  hear. 

HADDA  PADDA  [involuntarily  frowning  a  moment]. 
It  is  strange  how  proud  the  imagination  can  be,  pretend- 


56  Hadda  Padda  [Act  III 

ing  to  be  a  strong  reality.  If  I  had  really  loved  you 
at  all,  I  would  still.  I  do  not.  So  long  as  you  were 
free,  I  made  myself  believe  I  had  a  certain  claim  to  you. 
But  once  you  were  engaged  to  any  one  else,  the  same 
thing  would  have  happened, —  I  should  have  forgotten 
you  in  a  week. 

INGOLF.     You  need  not  tell  me  this,  I  know  it. 

HADDA  PADDA.     What  do  you  know? 

INGOLF.  I  know  that  you  deny  your  own  heart  for 
the  sake  of  others. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Now  you  think  too  highly  of  both  of 
us.  I  am  not  so  good  as  you  would  make  me,  and  it  is 
not  so  difficult  to  forget  you  as  you  imagine. —  You 
won't  believe  that  I  have  succeeded  in  forgetting  you. 
Won't  you  believe,  either,  that  I  have  made  every  effort 
to  do  it?  The  day  before  yesterday  I  locked  myself  in 
my  room,  and  took  out  your  letters  to  see  whether  I 
could  bear  to  read  them.  I  wanted  to  test  myself, — 
you  know  I  like  to  get  to  the  very  heart  of  things. 
Well,  I  read  letter  after  letter.  It  is  a  remarkable 
power  that  is  given  to  a  trivial  matter.  If  I  had  not 
read  the  letters,  I  might  still  have  felt  unhappy,  but  I 
read  and  read  with  ever  increasing  calmness.  I  don't 
believe  my  feelings.  I  go  walking,  searching  for  all  the 
places  where  the  earth  must  be  scorched  with  burning 
pleasures,  in  order  to  know  whether  they  enkindle 
memories  so  sacred  that  they  can  again  inflame  me. 
Everything,  everything,  is  extinguished.  What  is  the 
matter,  little  Hadda?  Does  everything  leave  you  cold? 
Is  this  death  perhaps?  And  a  mixed  feeling  of  joy  and 
pain  seizes  me,  for  this  came  so  unexpected  —  it  came 
so  unexpected  —  it  came  so  unexpected  — 

INGOLF.  What  is  the  matter,  Hrafnhild?  Are  you 
ill?  You  are  so  excited.  Why  are  you  so  eager  to  tell 
me  all  this? 

HADDA  PADDA.     Because  I  don't  want  you  to  think  I 


Act  III]  Hadda  Padda  57 

am  making  any  sacrifice.     You  think  so,  but  I  am  not. 

INGOLF.     I  understand. 

HADDA  PADDA.  No,  you  don't  understand.  There 
was  still  one  place  where  I  was  afraid  to  go,  because 
it  meant  more  to  me  than  any  other.  I  grasped  my 
heart  with  fear,  and  there  I  seemed  to  find  the  place. 
It  was  the  Angelica  Gorge, —  where  you  had  put  your 
life  in  my  hands.  I  was  afraid  that  if  I  went  there,  I 
would  instantly  lose  the  peace  of  mind  I  had  gained. 
But  if  I  could  not  bear  that,  then  this  peace  was  nothing 
but  an  illusion.  I  wanted  to  be  sincere  with  myself  — 
so  I  went  up  there  last  night. 

INGOLF.     We  saw  you  walking  up  the  mountain. 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  lay  down  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff 
and  looked  down  into  the  depth  from  which  I  had  seen 
you  come  up.  "  Little  heart,"  I  said,  "  try  to  be  calm 
while  I  am  tormenting  you:  Here  it  was  that  he  raised 
himself  up  on  the  rope  /  held.  Here  it  was  that  he 
showed  me  how  well  he  loved  me."  But  instead  of  feel- 
ing pain,  my  whole  frame  quivered  with  trembling  joy. 
Here,  too,  I  had  conquered.  Tears  of  gratitude  came 
into  my  eyes.  I  stretched  myself  farther  out  on  the 
edge  to  make  my  tears  of  joy  fall  into  the  chasm,  down 
to  the  very  bottom. —  Do  you  see  now  that  I  am  not 
going  to  make  a  sacrifice.  Now  tell  all  this  to  Runa,  for 
she  should  know  it  too. 

INGOLF  [very  much  moved,  throws  himself  at  her 
feet].  When  you  have  risen  I  will  kiss  the  ground 
your  feet  have  marked. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Then  I  shall  never  rise.  .  .  .  Don't 
lie  down  like  that.  Get  up,  Ingolf. 

INGOLF.  I  will  lie  down  and  forget.  Let  me  dream 
of  death  for  one  moment. 

HADDA  PADDA.     Death !     You  who  are  happy ! 

INGOLF.     Death  is  not  unhappiness. 

HADDA  PADDA.     Come,  sit  down  again.     I   will  tell 


58  Hadda  Padda  [Act  III 

you  what  death  is.  Last  night  I  was  only  a  hair's 
breadth  away  from  it. 

INGOLF  [starts,  terror  stricken,  lie  half  arises].  What 
are  you  saying? 

HADDA  PADDA.  When  I  lay  there  on  the  edge  of  the 
gorge,  looking  down,  something  dazzlingly  white  flashed 
before  my  eyes.  Quite  instinctively  I  reached  out  for 
it.  It  was  as  if  my  hands  perceived  what  it  was,  before 
my  eyes  had  had  time  to  make  it  clear  to  me.  It  was 
the  string  of  pearls  which  had  loosened  from  my  hair. 
I  reached  for  it  without  considering  how  unsafely  I  was 
lying  there,  when  suddenly  I  felt  myself  slipping  down. 
The  sensation  cannot  be  described.  While  my  right 
hand  reached  for  the  pearls  which  were  dropping  down 
into  the  gorge,  my  left  caught  hold  of  the  turf  on  the 
brink.  I  was  losing  my  balance  and  nothing  held  me 
up  but  a  few  blades  of  grass.  I  felt  my  heart  in  my 
throat,  and  a  cold  perspiration  over  my  whole  body. 
Now  the  grass  was  giving  way,  now  I  clawed  my  fingers 
down  into  the  earth  and  dug  my  feet  into  it,  but  it  was 
too  hard;  I  tried  to  press  my  knees  down  into  the  turf 
• — nothing  helped,  I  was  slipping.  Life  or  death! 
To  the  right  there  was  a  stone.  I  let  go  of  the  grass, 
and  blindly  swung  my  body  to  the  right,  my  feet 
slipped  beyond  the  edge, —  but  my  hands  had  caught 
hold  of  the  stone.  When  I  got  to  the  edge  again,  I  lay 
in  a  stupour  for  a  long  time,  and  I  did  not  know  whether 
I  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  gorge  or  at  the  top. —  Never 
have  I  loved  life  as  I  do  to-day. 

INGOLF.  How  horrible!  But  what  made  you  wear 
the  pearls? 

HADDA  PADDA.  It  was  foolish,  but  I  don't  know 
whether  you  can  blame  me.  One  day,  when  I  was  al- 
most melancholy,  and  I  could  not  talk  to  anybody,  I 
was  seized  with  an  unconquerable  home-sick  feeling. 
I  yearned  for  mother,  and  felt  how  much  I  loved  her. 
I  took  the  pearls  out  and  looked  at  this  precious  heir- 


Act  III]  Hadda  Padda  59 

loom,  which  she  had  given  me.  I  fastened  it  in  my 
hair, —  and  immediately  I  felt  better.  That  was  why 
I  wore  them  the  next  day  too. 

IN  GOLF.  And  now  they  lie  at  the  bottom  of  the 
gorge ! 

HADDA  PADDA.     Yes. 

INGOLF.     What  are  you  going  to  tell  your  mother? 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  won't  tell  her  anything  before  I 
know  whether  they  will  be  found. 

INGOLF.     Have  you  asked  any  one  to  search  for  them? 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  just  thought  of  asking  Steindor, 
but  I  can  hardly  bring  myself  to  tell  him, —  if  after- 
wards they  should  not  be  found. 

INGOLF  [A  vague  disquietude  takes  possession  of  him. 
He  is  silent  for  an  instant,  then  stares  at  Hadda,  trying 
to  read  the  influence  of  his  words  upon  her].  Well,  you 
are  going  to-morrow,  and  the  very  next  day  I  will  go 
down  into  the  gorge  and  look  for  them. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Will  you  really,  Ingolf?  And  not 
tell  Runa  that  I  lost  them  ?  Mother  must  not  know  that 
I  have  treated  the  pearls  so  carelessly. 

INGOLF.     I  won't  tell  any  one. 

HADDA  PADDA  [looking  at  him  with  wide-opened 
eyes].  I'd  like  it  even  more  if  you  would  do  it  before 
I  left.  If  you  looked  for  them  to-morrow  morning  while 
I  am  getting  ready  to  go.  Then  you'd  spare  me  the 
anxiety.  Take  Steindor  with  you,  will  you? 

INGOLF  [gets  up.  All  doubt  leaves  his  mind  as  he 
looks  into  her  face  and  he  is  ashamed  of  the  unworthy 
suspicion  that  had  touched  his  soul].  Yes,  Hrafnhild, 
don't  be  distressed.  We  shall  find  your  pearls. —  Aren't 
you  coming  with  me? 

HADDA  PADDA.     No,  I  will  wait  for  the  children. 

INGOLF.     Good-night,  Hrafnhild.     [Goes.] 

HADDA  PADDA.  Good-night.  [Looks  after  him  for  a 
long  time.  Her  eyes  fill  with  tears,  and  she  throws 
herself  down  weeping  violently.  Soon  the  voices  of 


60  Hadda  Padda  [Act  III 

children,  laughing,  are  heard  near  by.  She  looks  up, 
passes  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  hears  the  children's  foot- 
steps and  lies  down  again  as  if  asleep.] 

THE  CHILDREN  [enter.  In  addition  to  the  berries, 
each  of  them  carries  a  bouquet  of  flowers]. 

LITTLE  SKULI.  She's  asleep.  [He  takes  his  bouquet, 
and  those  of  the  others,  placing  them  around  her  head.] 

The  children  sit  down  quietly,  eating  their  berries. 

CURTAIN 


ACT    IV 


ACT    IV 

A  deep  gorge  viewed  from  the  side,  its  walls  running 
obliquely  down  from  right  to  left.  The  upper  end  of 
the  outer  edge  merges  into  the  mountain  slope,  which 
shuts  out  the  view  to  the  left.  It  is  foggy.  On  the 
left,  as  the  fog  lifts,  a  waterfall  glistens  in  the  distance, 
like  a  broad  white  streak  in  the  air.  The  sides  of  the 
gorge  are  abruptly  terminated  by  a  cliff,  the  top  of 
which  is  grass-grown.  Here,  Ingolf  and  Steindor  are 
sitting.  Beside  them  is  a  long  rope. 

STEINDOR.  Just  look  how  it  is  drizzling!  ...  I  can 
write  on  my  clothes.  [Forms  letters  on  his  sleeve.] 

INGOLF  [strokes  his  finger  along  his  sleeve].  My  suit 
just  matches  the  drizzle. 

STEINDOR   [is  silent], 

INGOLF  [is  aroused,  as  from  a  reverie].  Are  you 
rested  ? 

STEINDOR.     Oh,  very  nearly. 

INGOLF.  You  should  have  let  me  pull  you  up.  It  is 
too  tiring  to  raise  oneself. 

STEINDOR.  I  have  been  lowering  myself  into  this 
gorge  for  fourteen  years  now,  to  get  angelica,  and  al- 
ways without  help.  This  is  no  height  at  all. 

INGOLF.     How  high  do  you  think  it  is? 

STEINDOR.     Only  half  a  rope-length. 

INGOLF.     How  long  is  a  rope-length? 

STEINDOR.     A  hundred  and  twenty  feet. 

INGOLF.     Have  you  lowered  yourself  that  far? 

STEINDOR.  I  guess  even  a  little  more.  One  summer 
on  the  Westmen  Isles,  I  went  down  three  rope-lengths, 
for  fowl;  but  then,  I  tied  the  rope  around  my  waist,  and 

63 


64  Hadda  Padda  [Act  IV 

took  a  stick  along,  to  push  myself  off  from  the  rock,  so 
that  the  rope  wouldn't  turn. 

INGOLF.     The  rope  turned  round  with  me  before. 

STEINDOR.     Only  practice  can  prevent  it. 

INGOLF  [gets  up,  "walks  out  to  the  brink,  and  looks 
down  into  the  gorge].  Did  you  look  everywhere  pos- 
sible ? 

STEINDOR.     I  did. 

INGOLF.  So  did  I.  But  it  is  very  dark  in  some 
places,  and  there  are  so  many  holes.  Did  you  look  in 
the  holes? 

STEINDOR.  Well,  I  wasn't  going  to  crawl  into  every 
pit  —  that  would  be  an  endless  j  ob.  Besides,  I  think 
it  serves  these  women  right,  once  in  a  while,  to  have 
themselves  to  blame.  It  teaches  them  to  take  better 
care  next  time. 

INGOLF.  Don't  speak  to  any  one  about  it.  She 
asked  me  not  to  tell  anybody.  I  wouldn't  have  told 
you,  if  I'd  had  any  luck  in  my  search.  But  I  thought 
perhaps  you  might  be  able  to  find  them. 

STEINDOR.  You  told  the  family  that  you  had  lost 
your  diamond  ring. 

INGOLF.  Yes,  then  we  will  say  we  have  found  it. 
[Looks  down  into  the  gorge.]  How  uncanny  it  looks 
down  there!  It  is  as  if  the  fog  were  shunning  the 
gully,  so  inky  black!  .  .  .  See  how  sombre  the  ravine 
looks ! 

STEINDOR  [gets  up,  and  walks  out  on  the  brink]. 

INGOLF.  It  looks  uncanny  down  there!  [Warning 
him.]  Don't  go  too  near  the  edge. 

STEINDOR  [laughing].  Steindor  can  take  care  of 
himself ! 

INGOLF.     Have  you  ever  fallen,  Steindor? 

STEINDOR.     Oh,  well,  I've  had  my  share  of  that. 

INGOLF.     How  did  it  affect  you? 

STEINDOR.  I  don't  wish  myself  a  better  death,  if  the 
fall  is  high  enough.  One  winter  I  was  going  over  a 


Act  IV]  Hadda  Padda  65 

gully,  clogged  with  a  frozen  snow-pile.  I  had  to  pass 
it;  so  I  forced  my  stick  down  into  the  pile,  and  leaped 
over  it.  I  tried  to  pull  it  out  as  I  came  over,  but  it 
stuck  tight,  and  threw  me  backwards.  I  knew  nothing 
more,  until  I  woke  up  at  the  foot  of  the  rocks,  and  saw 
the  blood  stains  on  the  snow.  I  had  scratched  myself 
on  the  edge  as  I  grazed  over  it. 

INGOLF.     And  otherwise  you  got  off  alright? 

STEINDOR.  Quite  alright.  I  landed  on  the  soft 
snow.  Had  it  been  rocky  below,  I  would  have  died 
instantly.  Since  that  day,  I  say  falling  from  a  height 
isn't  the  worst  death.  You  lose  all  consciousness  in 
falling. 

INGOLF.     To  fall  from  here  would  be  horrible. 

STEINDOR.  It's  more  horrible  thinking  about  it  than 
anything  else. 

INGOLF.     It  would  be  quite  a  fall. 

STEINDOR.  Oh,  yes  —  I  think  you  would  get  your 
fill. 

INGOLF.     Here,  take  the  rope,  Steindor.     Let  us  go. 

STEINDOR  [looking  around].  Some  one  is  coming  up 
along  the  ravine. 

INGOLF.     Where? 

STEINDOR.  There  —  why,  it's  Hrafnhild.  She  is 
nearly  here  now. 

INGOLF.     What  is  she  carrying  over  her  shoulder? 

STEINDOR.     It  looks  like  a  spade. 

INGOLF.  Come,  let's  go  and  meet  her.  [They  take 
a  few  steps.] 

HADDA  PADDA   [is  heard  calling].     Wait! 

INGOLF.     What  do  you  think  she  wants  with  a  spade? 

HADDA  PADDA  [is  heard  calling,  almost  out  of  breath]. 
I  wanted  to  catch  you  before  you  went  down.  [En- 
ters.] There  was  nobody  else  at  home  to  bring  the 
spade,  so  I  offered  to  do  it. 

INGOLF.     Did  you  tell  mother  we  were  coming  here? 

HADDA  PADDA.     She  asked.     She  saw  you  walk  up 


66  Hadda  Padda  [Act  IV 

the  mountain.  I  told  her  you  had  lost  your  diamond 
ring  in  the  gorge,  and  you  and  Steindor  were  going 
down  to  look  for  it. 

INGOLF.     Did  she  send  you  with  the  spade? 

HADDA  PADDA.  No,  she  said,  that  if  she  had  known 
it,  she  would  have  asked  you  to  take  a  spade  along,  and 
get  some  angelicas  for  the  garden.  That  is  why  I  fol- 
lowed you.  [Walks  out  and  drives  the  spade  in  the 
ground.]  Have  you  been  down  already? 

INGOLF.     Yes,  we  have. 

HADDA  PADDA.     Did  you  find  your  diamond  ring? 

INGOLF.  We  did  not  find  your  pearls. —  Yes,  I  had 
to  tell  Steindor.  I  went  down  first  and  searched  very 
carefully ;  then  I  asked  Steindor  to  go  down, —  I  thought 
he  might  have  better  luck. 

STEINDOR.     They  will  never  be  found. 

HADDA  PADDA.  They  must  be  found;  they  shall  be 
found. 

INGOLF  [looks  questioningly  into  her  eyes'].  Are  you 
sure  they  did  not  fall  beyond  that  lowest  rock?  [Points 
in  the  direction.] 

HADDA  PADDA  [eagerly,  and  returning  his  glance 
calmly].  No,  no.  I  saw  them  fall,  just  by  the  big 
stone.  You  haven't  looked  carefully  enough.  It  has 
really  taken  you  no  time  at  all. 

INGOLF.  I  hunted  for  them  everywhere,  as  if  I  were 
searching  for  a  needle. 

STEINDOR.     I  can't  search  any  better  than  I  have. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Then  it  is  due  to  the  fog.  Probably 
I  have  to  wait  till  later.  .  .  .  No,  I  can't  go  home  with- 
out them. 

STEINDOR.  The  fog  is  not  so  dense,  that  they  couldn't 
be  found  on  its  account.  You  can  see  all  around,  down 
in  the  gorge.  Just  look! 

HADDA  PADDA  [walks  out  to  the  edge,  looks  down, 
turns  round  abruptly].  Did  you  search  in  the  pool 
near  the  big  stone?  It  might  have  fallen  there. 


Act  IV]  Hadda  Padda  67 

STEINDOR.  I  took  a  look  at  it,  but  I  didn't  see  any- 
thing. 

INGOLF.  I  would  have  seen  them  glitter  in  the  water, 
if  they  were  there. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Glitter  in  the  water!  And  the  pool 
covered  with  duck-weed !  So  that's  how  you  searched ! 
—  Did  you  look  all  through  the  duck-weed,  did  you 
fish  it  out  of  the  pond,  to  see  if  the  pearls  were  hidden 
in  it? 

INGOLF.     No,  I  didn't  do  that. 

STEINDOR.     No,  it  may  be  possible  — 

HADDA  PADDA.  Yes,  it  is  possible,  to  be  sure.  Hun- 
dreds of  women  might  have  lost  their  pearls  down  there, 
without  your  having  found  them. 

STEINDOR.     No,  I  think  you  are  the  only  one  .  .  . 

HADDA  PADDA  [turns  quickly  toward  Ingolf],  What 
do  you  think  mother  will  say  when  she  hears  that  I  have 
lost  the  heirloom? —  [Resolutely.]  Men  never  can  find 
anything,  men  do  not  understand  how  to  search.  [Tears 
the  rope  from  Steindor.]  I  had  better  go  down  my- 
self. 

INGOLF.     You  don't  really  intend  to  go  down? 

HADDA  PADDA  [ties  one  end  around  her  waist],  I  in- 
tend to  do  what  I  can  to  find  my  lost  treasure  again. 

STEINDOR.  You  will  not  go  far,  I  think,  before  you 
ask  us  to  pull  you  up. 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  have  been  lowered  into  this  gorge 
before. 

INGOLF  [takes  the  loose  end],  I  forbid  you  to  go 
down,  Hrafnhild. 

HADDA  PADDA.  You  forbid  me?  ...  I  forbid  you  to 
touch  this  rope.  Or,  shall  we  see  who  is  stronger? 
[Pulls  the  rope,"] 

INGOLF  [coining  nearer  to  her,  he  lets  the  rope  slip]. 
I  know  what  you  are  thinking,  Hrafnhild.  You  want  us 
to  go  down  again,  and  you  know  this  is  the  only  way  you 
can  get  us  to  do  it. 


68  Hadda  Padda  [Act  IV 

HADDA  PADDA.  Do  you  think  I  am  afraid  to  go 
down?  It  would  only  give  me  joy.  And  if  you  didn't 
find  the  pearls,  when  you  looked  for  them  the  second 
time,  I  would  go  down,  anyhow.  I  would  never  be  at 
rest  until  I  had  searched  myself. 

[Ingolf  lets  go  of  the  rope,  takes  Steindor  aside  — 
he  nods.  They  both  look  at  Hrafnhild  while  she  fastens 
the  rope  around  her  waist  more  securely.'] 

INGOLF.     What  are  you  going  to  do  now? 

HADDA  PADDA  [having  finished  tying  the  knot,  holds 
the  rope  out  to  them}.  Will  you  hold  the  rope  while  I 
go  down? 

INGOLF.     No,  I  won't. 

STEINDOR.     I  won't  either. 

HADDA  PADDA  [bites  her  lips,  stares  at  the  men].  Go 
on  home!  [Starts  to  wind  up  the  rope.]  I  don't  need 
you.  You  think  I  can't  do  without  you?  You  think 
the  mountain  hasn't  stones  heavy  enough  to  keep 
me  up?  [Runs  away,  and  disappears  toward  the  moun- 
tain.] 

INGOLF.  I  don't  remember  exactly  —  it's  quite  im- 
possible to  enter  the  gorge  from  below,  isn't  it? 

STEINDOR.  So  far,  only  the  birds  have  that  privilege. 
It's  a  headlong  precipice  on  three  sides ! 

INGOLF.     I  won't  let  Hrafnhild  go  down. 

STEINDOR.  She  says  she  has  gone  down  in  the  gorge 
before.  Is  that  true? 

INGOLF  [nods  reluctantly].     Yes. 

STEINDOR.     When  was  that? 

INGOLF.     Last  summer. 

STEINDOR.     Did  you  hold  the  rope? 

INGOLF.     I  did. 

STEINDOR.  Well,  then  I  don't  know  what  you  are 
afraid  of. 

INGOLF.  It  seems  strange  that  Hrafnhild  should 
come  up  here. 

STEINDOR.     She  came  with  the  spade. 


Act  IV]  Hadda  Padda  69 

INGOLF.  It  seems  strange  we  didn't  find  the  pearls, 
if  they  were  in  the  gorge. 

STEINDOR.     She'll  be  lucky  if  they  are  ever  found. 

INGOLF.  It  seems  strange  that  she  dropped  them. 
When  I  saw  that  she  herself  was  coming  here,  it  flashed 
across  my  mind,  that  she  hadn't  dropped  the  pearls  in 
the  gorge  after  all. 

STEINDOR.  I  don't  understand  —  what  are  you  driv- 
ing at?  Do  you  think  it  is  something  she  invented? 
Why  should  she? 

INGOLF.     I  am  afraid  to  let  her  go  down. 

HADDA  PADDA  [enters  with  a  large  stone  in  her  arms 
which  she  places  on  the  edge.  She  has  the  coil  of  rope 
thrown  over  her  shoulder.  Laughs].  So  you  haven't 
gone  yet!  [Takes  the  spade  and  starts  to  dig.]  Don't 
you  think  I  can  do  without  you  now  ?  I  will  dig  a  deep, 
deep  hole.  Then  I'll  tie  one  end  of  the  rope  around  the 
stone,  and  place  it  into  the  hole. —  Then  I'll  go  and  get 
more  stones  up  in  the  mountain  and  pile  them  up.  You 
will  see  how  well  it  will  hold. 

INGOLF  [examining  the  stone].  So  you  think  it  will 
hold?  Well —  [Takes  the  stone  and  flings  it  into 
the  ravine.] 

HADDA  PADDA  [smiling,  she  looks  at  Ingolf].  I  shall 
take  better  care  next  time.  [Running  away,  Ingolf  and 
Steindor  look  after  her.] 

STEINDOR.     She  is  determined  to  go  down. 

INGOLF.  I  will  offer  to  go  down  again.  Let  us  both 
offer  to  go  down. 

STEINDOR.  She  said  she  would  go  down  anyhow,  if 
we  didn't  find  the  pearls. 

INGOLF.  Just  look  how  fast  she  is  running!  She  is 
holding  her  hand  to  her  breast. 

STEINDOR.  Now  she  is  stopping.  .  .  .  She  is  lifting 
a  stone.  .  .  .  Now  she  has  thrown  it  away. 

INGOLF.     She  runs  without  stopping. 

STEINDOR.     Now  she  has  found  a  new  stone. 


70  Hadda  Padda  [Act  IV 

INOOLF.     She  is  bending  over  it.     What  is  she  doing? 

STEINDOR.  She  is  tying  the  rope  around  it.  She 
won't  let  you  hurl  this  one  over. 

INGOLF.  She  is  lifting  the  stone,  and  carrying  it  in 
her  arms. 

STEINDOR.  She  is  strong,  Hrafnhild  is.  Now  she  is 
running  with  it. 

INGOLF.  See  how  the  earth  is  slipping  from  under 
her  feet.  See  how  the  pebbles  pursue  her !  She  is  run- 
ning away  from  them  with  the  big  stone.  She  is  holding 
it  in  her  arms  as  if  it  were  a  child  she  were  rescuing. 

HADDA  PADDA  [enters,  carrying  the  stone  which  she 
cautiously  places  on  the  edge.  Smiles],  You  haven't 
gone  yet!  What  are  you  waiting  for?  [Takes  the 
spade,  and  starts  to  deepen  the  hole.] 

INGOLF.  Steindor  and  I  will  go  down  for  you.  We 
will  search  as  thoroughly  as  possible. 

HADDA  PADDA.     You  are  kind.     But  now  I  will  let 
nothing  prevent  me  from  going  down.     Had  you  offered 
to  do  so  before,  I  would  have  accepted;  but  when  ycu 
say  you  forbid  me  to  go  down,  I  intend  to  go. 
[Steindor  walks  restlessly  near  the  edge.] 

INGOLF.  You  know  that  we  can  prevent  you  from  go- 
ing down. 

HADDA  PADDA.     You  can  —  how  ? 

INGOLF.     We  can  take  the  rope  from  you  and  go  home. 

HADDA  PADDA.  Yes  —  you  can  do  that.  [Turns 
away.] 

INGOLF.     What  would  you  do  then? 

HADDA  PADDA  [in  same  position].  Go  home  and  get 
another  rope. 

INGOLF.     Don't  be  so  obstinate,  Hrafnhild. 

HADDA  PADDA  [in  a  low  voice].  Why  don't  you  call 
me  by  my  pretty  name  any  more?  We  aren't  enemies. 
Promise  to  call  me  Hadda  Padda  always.  When  I  leave 
to-day,  when  I  mount  my  horse,  and  ride  away,  wave 
your  hat  to  me  and  call:  Good-bye,  Hadda  Padda. 


Act  IV]  Hadda  Padda  71 

INGOLF.     Are  you  determined  to  go  to-day? 

HADDA  PADDA.  Determined.  [Rolls  the  stone  into 
the  hole,  takes  it  up  again,  and  digs  deeper.] 

INGOLF.     You  won't  accept  our  offer? 

HADDA  PADDA.     No,  I  won't. 

INGOLF.     Then  stop  your  digging.     It  is  useless. 

HADDA  PADDA  [looks  at  him,  puzzled] . 

INGOLF.  You  must  understand  that  we  will  not  stand 
by,  and  let  you  go  down  with  only  a  loose  stone  to  hold 
you  up. 

HADDA  PADDA.  True,  I  wouldn't  be  as  nervous,  if  I 
knew  you  were  holding  the  rope.  [Puts  the  spade  aside, 
and  looks  down  into  the  gorge.] 

INGOLF  [unties  the  rope  from  the  stone]. 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  don't  know  whether  I  dare  go  down, 
Ingolf. 

INGOLF.     Don't  go  —  give  it  up. 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  never  saw  the  gorge  so  hushed. 
How  it  stretches  its  cold,  greedy  stone-fingers  into  the 
air !  —  But  imagine  my  finding  the  pearls !  [Deter- 
mined.] I  must  go  down.  Is  the  rope  safe? 

STEINDOR  [standing  near  them].  Even  if  there  were 
three  Hadda  Paddas  — 

HADDA  PADDA.  Ingolf!  I  am  not  afraid  to  be  low- 
ered down  by  your  hands.  [Lies  down  with  her  feet 
over  the  edge.] 

STEINDOR.  There  are  others  beside  Ingolf,  to  be  sure, 
who  could  hold  up  one  woman. 

INGOLF.     I  hate  to  see  you  go  down. 

HADDA  PADDA  [is  silent  for  an  instant,  turns  abruptly 
around,  looks  down  the  gorge,  gets  up  and  takes  the 
spade].  You  aren't  sitting  safely,  Ingolf.  I  will 
deepen  the  hole,  so  that  you  can  have  something  to  push 
your  feet  against.  [Digs.] 

STEINDOR  [with  an  amused  smile].  You  believe  you 
are  heavier  than  you  are,  Hadda  Padda. 

INGOLF.     I  ask  you  once  again,  to  give  up  the  idea. 


72  Hadda  Padda  [Act  IV 

HADDA  PADDA.     Are  you  afraid  you  will  lose  me? 

IN  GOLF.     You  can  spare  your  scoffing. 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  am  not  scoffing.  I'm  the  one  who 
is  afraid.  You  are  not  so  strong  as  you  pretend. 
Steindor,  will  you  hold  the  rope  with  him? 

INGOLP.  You  don't  have  to  sneer  at  me.  [At  his 
glance,  Steindor  turns  away.} 

HADDA  PADDA.  Now  set  your  feet  securely,  Ingolf, 
and  both  of  you  hold  the  rope.  Do  that  for  me,  and  I'll 
go  down  quite  fearlessly. 

INGOLF.  Well,  we  will  both  hold  the  rope.  [Stein- 
dor  sits  down,  catching  the  rope  too.] 

HADDA  PADDA.  Now  I  am  safe.  [Disappears  be- 
low the  edge.  The  rope  is  seen  sliding  slowly  and  firmly 
through  their  hands.] 

INGOLF  [pushing  Steindor  away] .  Get  up!  I  won't 
accept  an  affront  like  this  —  not  to  let  me  hold  the  rope 
alone !  Get  up  and  keep  an  eye  on  her, —  but  don't  let 
her  see  you.  [Steindor  gets  up.  The  rope  slides  down 
for  a  time.'] 

THE  VOICE  OF  HADDA  PADDA.     Ingolf! 

INGOLF.     Well?     [Stops  the  rope.] 

THE  VOICE  OF  HADDA  PADDA.  Are  you  both  holding 
the  rope? 

INGOLF.     Yes. 

THE  VOICE  OF  HADDA  PADDA.  Tell  me  the  truth, 
Ingolf. 

INGOLF.     We  are  both  holding  the  rope. 

THE  VOICE  OF  HADDA  PADDA.  Tell  me  the  truth.  Is 
Steindor  holding  the  rope? 

INGOLF  [to  Steindor].     You  have  let  her  see  you. 

STEINDOR.     No,  no! 

THE  VOICE  OF  HADDA  PADDA.  Why  did  you  de- 
ceive me,  Ingolf!  Pull  me  up!  [Ingolf  pulls  up  the 
rope.] 

HADDA  PADDA  [reappears  over  the  edge].  Why  did 
you  deceive  me  ? 


Act  IV]  Hadda  Padda  73 

INGOLF.  I  felt  ashamed  to  hold  the  rope  with  some 
one  else. 

HADDA  PADDA.  The  idea  flashed  upon  me.  That  is 
why  I  called.  I  knew  your  pride.  But  suddenly  I 
grew  nervous.  I  seemed  so  far  from  all  human  life. 
Since  you  don't  want  Steindor  to  hold  the  rope,  he  must 
stand  some  place  where  I  can  always  see  him.  Stein- 
dor,  stand  where  I  can  see  you.  Now  and  then  you'll 
call  to  me.  You'll  just  call:  Hadda  Padda!  and  I  will 
answer :  Yes.  Then  we  will  get  word  from  each  other. 
Here,  on  the  edge,  you  can  see  me  —  [points  to  the  far- 
ther edge]  —  down  there  on  the  ledge,  I  can  see  you 
perfectly. 

INGOLF.     Yes,  do  that,  Steindor. 

STEINDOR.     Alright.      [Goes  there.] 

HADDA  PADDA.  Why  don't  you  place  your  feet  in  the 
hole,  so  that  you  will  sit  more  securely? 

INGOLF.  Are  you  afraid  I'm  sitting  too  near  the 
edge  ? 

HADDA  PADDA  [takes  the  end  of  the  rope].  There  is 
no  knot  on  the  end.  Fancy,  if  the  rope  slipped  out  of 
your  hands.  [Ties  a  knot  in  it.] 

INGOLF.     Why  are  you  so  frightened? 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  don't  know.  ...  It  wasn't  fair  to 
prevent  Steindor  from  holding  the  rope  with  you. 

INGOLF.  If  you  are  so  afraid,  of  course  we  will  both 
hold  the  rope. 

HADDA  PADDA.  I  don't  know.  .  .  .  Oh  —  no,  hold  it 
alone.  I  also  want  to  see  some  one,  to  see  him  stand 
there,  and  hear  him  call  to  me. 

INGOLF.     I  prefer  that. 

HADDA  PADDA.  But  now  if  it  should  slip  from 
you  — !  If  you  open  your  hand  a  hair's  breadth  too 
much,  you  will  lose  the  rope !  [She  starts  with  a  shud- 
der.] 

INGOLF.  I  shall  let  the  rope  slide  over  my  shoulder 
—  will  you  be  more  at  ease  then  ? 


74  Hadda  Padda  [Act  IV 

HADDA  PADDA.  If  you  tie  it  around  your  waist,  so 
that  it  will  be  impossible  for  you  to  let  go  of  me  —  then 
I  will  be  at  ease. 

INGOLF  [gazes  intently  at  her,  as  if  to  penetrate  the 
mysterious  veil  which  envelopes  her  manner,  her  words, 
and  her  actions.  Suddenly  he  grasps  the  end  of  the 
rope  and  ties  it  around  his  waist], 

HADDA  PADDA  [sits  down  on  the  edge].  I  nearly 
forgot  the  spade.  I  will  dig  up  an  angelica,  and  take 
it  along  with  me.  [Disappears  below  the  edge.  The 
rope  slides  for  a  time.] 

INGOLF.     You  can  see  her,  Steindor? 

STEINDOR.  She  is  like  an  expert  rope-climber.  She 
is  keeping  herself  from  the  rock  with  the  spade. 

INGOLF.  Don't  lose  sight  of  her.  Tell  me  how  she 
is  getting  along. 

STEINDOR.  I  am  not  anxious  about  her  going  down. 
Now  she  is  about  passing  the  ledge.  There,  now  you 
can  let  the  rope  slide  quicker. 

INGOLF.  It  is  strange  how  the  rope  slides  out  of  my 
hands.  It  is  as  if  a  living  worm  were  boring  out 
through  them. 

STEINDOR  [calls],     Hadda  Padda! 

THE  VOICE  OF  HADDA  PADDA.     Yes. 

STEINDOR.  She  is  flying  down.  .  .  .  Now  the  rope 
is  turning.  ...  It  is  strange  to  see  some  one  else  low- 
ered down. 

INGOLF.     Is  it  still  turning? 

STEINDOR.  Now  it  is  turning  to  the  other  side. — 
Hadda  Padda! 

THE  VOICE  OF  HADDA  PADDA  [just  audible].     Yes. 

STEINDOR.  Lower  her  faster,  it  amuses  her.  She 
waved  her  hand  to  me. 

INGOLF.     She  waved  her  hand  to  you? 

STEINDOR.     Oh,  she  lost  the  spade. 

INGOLF.     She  lost  the  spade!     Didn't  she  throw  it? 

STEINDOR.     I  think  she  lost  it. 


Act  IV]  Hadda  Padda  75 

INGOLP.     What  is  she  doing  now? 

STEINDOR.     I  can't  see. 

INGOLF.  Is  she  doing  anything? — It  isn't  possible. 
Has  she  a  long  way  left?  [Gives  the  rope  as  quickly  as 
possible.] 

STEINDOR.     No. —  Hadda  Padda ! 

INGOLF.     Now  I  don't  hear  her  answer. 

STEINDOR.  Nor  I.  [Calls  louder.]  Hadda  Padda! 
[Listens.] 

INGOLF.     Do  you  hear  her  answer? 

STEINDOR.  No.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  now  she  has  heard  — 
she  is  waving  —  she  is  waving  with  both  hands. 

INGOLF.     Good  —  she  is  alright  then. 

STEINDOR.     Now  I  think  she  is  down! 

INGOLF.     The  rope  does  not  slacken  — 

STEINDOR.     I  don't  see  her  moving  any  more. 

INGOLF  [as  the  rope  slackens].  Well,  now  she  is 
down !  Do  you  see  her  ? 

STEINDOR.  She  just  picked  up  the  spade.  Now  she 
is  going  with  it  way  under  the  rock. 

INGOLF  [He  holds  the  rope  so  loosely,  that  it  runs 
freely  through  his  fingers].  She  evidently  intends  to 
dig  up  some  angelica  before  searching. 

STEINDOR.  The  rope  is  dragging  along  with  her,  she 
has  not  untied  it. 

INGOLF.     Do  you  see  her? 
STEINDOR.     No. 

INGOLF.  Let  us  wait  calmly.  [Rests  his  chin  in  his 
palm.] 

INGOLF.     Do  you  see  her? 

STEINDOR.     No. 

INGOLF.     I  wish  she  would  come  out  soon. 

INGOLF.     Do  you  see  her? 
STEINDOR.     No. 


76  Hadda  Padda  [Act  IV 

INGOLF.  I  can't  understand  what  is  keeping  her  so 
long. 

STEINDOR.  You  couldn't  expect  her  any  sooner. 
[Peers  down.]  She  has  just  come  from  under  the  rock. 
She  has  an  angelica  with  her. 

INGOLF.  She  is  jerking  the  rope  —  she  jerked  three 
times. 

STEINDOR.  She  tied  the  spade  and  angelica  to  the 
rope.  Pull  it  up!  [!NGOLF  pulls  the  rope  up  quickly.] 

STEINDOR.     Now  she  is  going  to  look  for  the  pearls. 

INGOLF  [The  fear  and  anxiety  seen  on  his  face  all  this 
time  give  place  to  a  more  cheerful  expression].  Now 
we  can  be  at  ease.  Who  knows,  maybe  she  will  find  the 
pearls ! 

STEINDOR.  She  is  searching  in  the  pool.  She  is  pull- 
ing out  the  duck-weed. 

INGOLF  [draws  the  spade  and  angelica  up  over  the 
edge,  loosens  the  rope,  coils  it  up,  and  throws  it  down 
again] . 

STEINDOR.  She  is  walking  around  the  pool.  Now 
she  has  turned  her  back  to  me.  I  can't  see  —  I  think 
she  is  looking  around  .  .  .  she  is  bending  over  the  pool. 

INGOLF.     Now  I  am  at  ease 

STEINDOR.  Now  she  jumped  up!  She  is  raising  her 
arms  —  she  is  waving  the  pearls  at  me !  . 

INGOLF.     Bravo,  bravo! 

STEINDOR.  It  was  just  a  piece  of  luck!  —  Now  she 
is  tying  the  rope  around  herself. — 

INGOLF.  She  just  pulled, —  now  I'll  be  quick  about 
it.  [Starts  pulling.] 

STEINDOR  [after  a  while].  It  looks  as  if  she  were 
sleeping  on  the  rope. 

INGOLF.     What? 

STEINDOR.  Her  body  is  relaxed.  .  .  .  Should  I  call 
to  her? 

INGOLF.  No,  don't  disturb  her.  I  know  the  pleas- 
ure of  cleaving  the  air  with  closed  eyes. 


Act  IV]  Hadda  Padda  77 

STEINDOR.  Now  she  starts  .  .  .  now  she  seems  to 
be  at  rest  again.  She  is  crouching  like  one  who  is  cold 
in  bed. 

INGOLF.     Tell  me  when  we  reach  the  ledge. 

STEINDOR.  There  isn't  much  left  now.  Aren't  you 
tired  pulling? 

INGOLF.     Not  very. 

STEINDOR  [smiling].  You  will  show  your  sweet- 
heart how  strong  you  are. 

INGOLF.     Aren't  we  at  the  ledge  yet? 

STEINDOR.     Not  quite. 

INGOLF   [pulling  on], 

STEINDOR.  She  looks  strange  now.  She  is  grasping 
the  rope  firmly  —  she  is  cringing.  She  looks  like  a 
spider  winding  her  way  up. 

THE  VOICE  OF  HADDA  PADDA.     Ingolf ! 

INGOLF.     Well ! 

THE  VOICE  OF  HADDA  PADDA.  I  will  rest  on  the 
ledge. 

INGOLF   [continues  pulling'].     You  will  be  up  soon! 

THE  VOICE  OF  HADDA  PADDA.  No,  no,  Ingolf!  The 
rope  is  too  tight. —  You  must  not  pull  like  that. —  The 
rope  hurts  me  so  under  my  breast.  [The  rope  relaxed; 
Ingolf  stops  pulling.] 

STEINDOR  [motions  to  him].  You  must  hold  the 
rope  tight,  so  that  she  can  raise  herself  up  to  the 
ledge. —  Well,  now  she  is  there! 

INGOLF.     What  is  she  doing? 

STEINDOR.  She  is  sitting  down  .  .  .  she  is  adjust- 
ing the  rope  around  her  waist  ...  or,  what  .  .  .  yes, 
she  has  untied  it. 

THE  VOICE  OF  HADDA  PADDA.  You  need  not  stay 
here  any  longer,  Steindor.  I  am  not  afraid  any 
more. 

STEINDOR.     I  am  very  comfortable  here. 

THE  VOICE  OF  HADDA  PADDA  [She  is  heard  laughing], 
Shall  I  stone  the  raven  away  from  his  nest?  Beware, 


78  Hadda  Padda  [Act  IV 

you  blackbird!  [A  small  stone  flies  through  the  air, 
and  falls  down  near  Steindor.  He  starts.] 

THE  VOICE  or  HADDA  PADDA.  Were  you  afraid  of 
the  stone? 

STEINDOR.     I  think  it  an  unnecessary  joke! 

THE  VOICE  OF  HADDA  PADDA.  Ha!  Ha!  Did  you 
think  I  would  stone  you?  It  is  fun  to  scare  you! 
Shall  I  try  to  hit  you  with  the  rope  ?  —  Ingolf ,  let  the 
rope  go,  please.  I  will  try  to  hit  Steindor  with  it  —  he 
is  deathly  afraid. 

STEINDOR  [who  now  wants  to  show  that  he  under- 
stands the  joke].  I  wager  you  won't  reach  me. 

INGOLF.     I  bet  she  hits  you. 

THE  VOICE  OF  HADDA  PADDA.  I  would  have  hit  be- 
fore, if  the  rope  hadn't  been  too  short. 

STEINDOR.  No,  you  never  would  have  done  it  — 
you  have  to  aim  better  than  that! 

THE  VOICE  OF  HADDA  PADDA.  The  rope  was  too 
short. 

STEINDOR.  It's  easy  to  lengthen  it.  Ingolf!  Give 
her  full  rope.  Let  us  see  if  she  can  hit  me ! 

INGOLF  [laughing].  You  must  take  care,  Steindor! 
[He  holds  the  rope  loosely  in  his  hands.  Gradually  it 
is  pulled  down  entirely,  till  it  is  in  a  straight  line  with 
Ingolf s  waist.  Soon  after  the  rope-end  is  seen  hitting 
against  the  edge,  touching  Steindor's  foot.] 

THE  VOICE  OF  HADDA  PADDA.     Didn't  it  hit? 

STEINDOR.     Well,  we  can  call  it  that. 

INGOLF.  You  have  to  be  careful,  next  time,  Stein- 
dor! 

STEINDOR.  What!  Won't  you  try  any  more?  Are 
you  tying  the  rope  around  you? 

INGOLF.     Is  she  rested? 

STEINDOR.  She  is  tying  the  rope  around  her  and  is 
lowering  herself  down  under  the  ledge. 

INGOLF  [looks  at  him  in  astonishment].  What  are 
you  saying? 


Act  IV]  Hadda  Padda  79 

STEINDOR.  But  why  has  she  made  the  rope  so  taut? 
[He  is  amazed.] 

INGOLF.     What  is  the  matter? 

STEINDOR.  Hadda  Padda  is  standing  on  her  head  in 
the  air. 

INGOLF.  .  .  .? 

STEINDOR.  She  is  bracing  her  feet  against  the  rock. 
Look  out!  [Ingolf  braces  his  feet  against  the  sides  of 
the  hole.  Steindor  gets  up.] 

INGOLF.  Stay  where  you  are,  and  tell  me  —  I'll 
raise  her  up  in  a  moment.  [He  pulls  the  rope  with  all 
his  strength.  A  moment  later  he  is  dragged  prostrate, 
out  to  the  edge.] 

STEINDOR  [runs  to  him,  catching  hold  of  him]. 
Great  God!  Is  she  insane?  I  wouldn't  have  suspected 
this. 

INGOLF  [in  a  low  voice].  Where  does  she  get  that 
strength  from? 

[The  rope  is  pulled  still  more  violently  than  before; 
they  are  both  dragged  forward.  Ingolf  rolls  on  his 
back,  using  all  his  power  to  draw  up  the  rope.] 

INGOLF.  Loosen  the  rope,  quick!  I'll  try  to  hold 
on.  [Steindor  hurries  to  loosen  the  rope.  While  he  is 
doing  it,  Ingolf  struggles  to  hold  fast.  Now  he  is  hold- 
ing his  arms  high  up  in  the  air,  rope  in  hand;  now  his 
arms  are  pulled  down.  Each  time  Steindor  thinks  he 
is  on  the  verge  of  giving  up,  he  lets  go  of  the  rope,  and 
catches  hold  of  Ingolf.] 

STEINDOR.  Now  it  is  free !  [Supports  Ingolf.  The 
rope  is  once  more  pulled  so  violently,  that  it  is  drawn 
through  Ingolf  s  hands  right  up  to  the  knot.  He  holds 
on  to  the  rope  beyond  the  knot  as  for  life,  while  they  are 
both  dragged  further  forward.] 

STEINDOR  [frightened].  You  must  let  go  of  the 
rope.  That's  all  you  can  do.  It  is  better  that  she  falls 
alone,  than  that  she  drag  both  of  us  with  her.  You  must 
let  go.  Or  I'll  let  go. 


80  Hadda  Padda  [Act  IV 

INGOLF  [looking  directly  at  him].  Let  go,  then, 
you  coward ! 

STEINDOR.  Why  did  you  want  me  to  untie  the  rope, 
if  you  intend  to  make  her  drag  you  down  ? 

INGOLF  [with  icy  calmness].  Have  you  courage  to 
hold  me  while  I  try  to  get  up?  [Gets  up.] 

STEINDOR  [still  supporting  him].  She  is  probably 
exhausted,  now. 

INGOLF  [starts  to  pull  the  rope  up.  He  is  bare- 
headed, his  hat  is  lying  on  the  edge;  his  hair  is  wet  with 
perspiration,  which  trickles  down  on  his  face.  The 
very  shape  of  his  head  seems  strangely  altered.]  Leave 
me,  Steindor,  I  am  through  with  you. 

STEINDOR.  I  won't  stand  here  idle,  and  see  you 
dragged  into  the  chasm. 

INGOLF.  Get  out  of  my  sight,  do  you  hear?  Or 
you'll  see  what's  in  store  for  you. 

STEINDOR.  She's  mad,  I  tell  you  —  she's  mad. 
[Takes  a  few  steps  and  stops.] 

Ingolf  pulls  the  rope  up,  quickly,  and  firmly,  with 
caution  in  each  grasp.  Hadda  Padda's  white  and  beau- 
tiful hand  appears  above  the  edge  of  the  gorge,  holding 
a  large,  shining  knife,  which  cuts  the  rope. 

HADDA  PADDA   [in  falling].     Ingolf! 

INGOLF  [is  thrown  back  as  the  resistance  is  cut  off; 
he  jumps  up;  rushes  to  the  edge,  crying  with  horror] : 
Hadda  Padda ! 

He  gazes  down  into  the  gorge  for  a  moment;  his 
knees  give  way  under  him;  he  stretches  up  his  arms, 
uttering  a  terrible  cry  of  horror. 

Steindor  approaches. 

Ingolf  looks  down  into  the  gorge.  Listlessly,  he  lifts 
the  hand  which  holds  the  fragment  of  rope.  His  eyes 
are  dim  with  tears  which  do  not  fall.  Through  the 
moisture' of  the  tears,  he  looks  at  the  newly  cut  wound  in 
the  rope. 

CURTAIN 


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